Continued Story
by TheDudeJDCT
Summary: In the wake of the 99th Emperor's death, Britannia tries to cope with a fundamentally changed world. Some plot to destroy the fruit of his sacrifice. Those who knew him lament that his peace will not last. All true stories are continuing stories.
1. Prologue

Zealous Shadow drank coffee in the darkened lounge. Past the glass walls, Shanghai glittered in the night. His suit draped over him casually as though it had grown there, and the shadows pressed closely about him. He slouched at the end of the deserted bar, and listlessly drank his coffee.

The news was playing again, on the flat-screen which hung above the taps. Seeing a story of interest, Zealous Shadow picked up the remote from the slick bar top and disengaged the mute. The newscaster was young and blonde, Britannian. This particular lounge, and others like it, generally eschewed local news in favour of Britannian sources, which were not only better funded but--these days, at least--moderately truthful.

She began in mid sentence as the sound came on.

"--new campaign of nationalism within the Empire, headed by Lord Frederick Weinberg. During yesterdays press conference Lord Weinberg spoke of a need for change within the current political climate of Britannia. We'll cut now to a brief clip from the conference."

A man stood before a podium, finely dressed. His hair was black and cut short, and he appeared to be in his fifties. He said: "Perhaps the lesson of the 99th Emperor, Lelouch vi Britannia, was taken rather too much to heart." He was handsome, and his blue eyes bespoke honesty. "And I know that my rivals will capitalize on these comments--yet these are things I _must_ say, for they concern the very survival of our great nation. The lesson of Lelouch was learned _too_ harshly," he pursed his lips and nodded regretfully, "and in our haste to correct our sins, the harm we had inflicted upon our fellow humans, we allowed ourselves to diminish what it meant to _be a Britannian_." Weinberg grimly let his eyes fall to his hands, upon the podium. "We have allowed the evil of one man to contaminate our thinking. We have forgotten that this is a nation built, not on subjugation, but on _civilization. _Under a corrupt and power hungry royal family, _yes_, it's true, we did those terrible things. We reduced ourselves, in doing those things. We conquered and invaded--not to bring peace and civilization, but to secure resources, labour forces, territory. And with the final horrifying treachery of that man, the power hungry Demon Emperor, our eyes were opened. We withdrew, in shock. We gave back territories, withdrew our troops. We vowed never again to visit such horrors upon the world. Under Empress Nunnally we have given back to the world, given back much of what we took. We have remembered our humanity."

And now Lord Weinberg's eyes narrowed under a frown, and he appeared troubled. "But we have forgotten, also."

"We have forgotten the principle of Empire. We have forgotten that Empire may still save the world. We have forgone unity in favour of uneasy truce. And we have left the world a shattered, divided place. With our troops recalled, the brutal warlords in Africa again begin their tribal wars. Hundreds dead, daily. We watch it on the news--these people used to be _our _people. In the freshly abandoned Middle East, the same thing. They squabble over national boundaries, affiliations. We have allowed them to choose their own rulers and govern themselves, and so they are doing, the only way they know how. Rebels seek control in the Caucasus. Thousands dead. Former terrorists vie for rule in Spain. Thousands dead. In the world's power vacuum, millions will die."

He paused for effect. "We watch it on television. We watch it, on television, and we wonder _why_. I hear it all the time. We have given them what they wanted, what they fought us for, what they _died_ for. Freedom. And _this_ is what they do with it? Do you see anyone free, in those places we have abandoned? And the question, ever present--_why_?

"I'll tell you why. _We _did this. We did this by abandoning them to themselves--perhaps a worse fate than we ever inflicted by ruling them. That word, freedom, has become a synonym for goodness, for justice. But freedom has only brought them misery and death."

Weinberg paused in heartfelt sorrow. When he began again it was rather more quietly. "What we did with the best of intentions has damned us. But we wash our hands of it, saying: 'they are free, now. Let them do as they please. They are free.' It is not so. The unity of an Empire can still save the world from its horrors. We must return to the abandoned Areas, many of them, and install peace and proper government. We must once again unite them. The age of tyranny is over. We must not let the sour memory of the Demon Emperor, Lelouch, kill the dream that is our Empire. Under our kind and benevolent Empress Nunnally, peace will reign."

And Weinberg concluded and bowed with a tentative smile, as the applause began to break out. The shot once again centered on the blonde newscaster, who smiled and said: "Empress Nunnally's office has made no official statement on the matter. But there can be no doubt that Lord Weinberg and his movement is popular. Be the first to voice your opinion at our website, ww--"

Zealous Shadow hit the mute.

He was left alone in silence and darkness. His coffee had gotten a little bit cool. He drank it anyway, grimacing at the bitter taste.

"Well," said Zealous Shadow to himself. "That's interesting."


	2. Jeremiah Gottwald's Loyalty

Lord Jeremiah Gottwald noticed that someone was running towards him from the direction of his villa, so he turned the engine of his tractor off and waited in silent relaxation. The leather seat squeaked as he allowed himself a huge stretch. The birds sang, and the blue sky was cloudless. And it was a hot day, sunlight burning on the tractor's hood and on the back of his neck. He rolled his white cotton sleeves up. Then he swivelled in his seat and leant an elbow on the backrest, shielding his eyes from the sun so as to discover who was running towards him.

It was Sullivan, one of his butlers. Jeremiah could see the man's violet coattails whipping back and forth as he ran--he was in his formal dress, as he normally was. Jeremiah Gottwald's eyebrow raised a little bit in vague perturbation. He often would jokingly tell Sullivan that the man should join him in his morning jog, or would invite him into his expansive work-out room. But Sullivan had always seemed too pious of rank, and invariably declined. Yet he was working up a considerable sweat now, Jeremiah mused. The sun shone whitely on Sullivan's balding forehead. Jeremiah considered throwing the tractor into reverse so as to lessen Sullivan's journey somewhat, but if the man were indeed running for his health, he might resent the gesture.

So Jeremiah Gottwald waited with a pleasant smile aimed down the dirt path towards the sprinting butler. The wind blew gently, cooling Jeremiah's neck and cheeks, and rustling the oranges that hung, numerous and ripe, in the trees which lined the path. Jeremiah had spent the last three hours with his tractor, his ladder, and his oranges. The wagon which trailed behind his tractor was nearly full, now. Jeremiah resolved that when Sullivan finally arrived, he would offer him an orange. He leaned over the back of his tractor and selected an especially large one, pre-emptively. He pressed at it gingerly with his fingers to ensure that it was of satisfactory ripeness. He then resumed waiting, orange in hand and pleasant smile on face.

Jeremiah had learned that it was impossible, in any situation, for the act of offering someone an orange to be a bad thing. Was Sullivan tired? Jeremiah would offer him the orange. Was he sick? The orange. If Sullivan were to say, upon his arrival, that his entire family had died, Jeremiah would offer condolences and an orange. In any conceivable situation, oranges could do no harm and frequently did good.

Sullivan limped to a halt before him, panting. His trousers were soiled with dust, and he doubled over with his hands on his knees.

"Good afternoon, Sullivan," Jeremiah greeted him, when it looked as though he had at least partially caught his breath.

"...Lord...G-Gottwald..." Sullivan wheezed.

"Yes," said Jeremiah, nodding. He held out the orange he had selected. "Would you like an orange?"

"Milord… Gottwald…" Sullivan addressed him again. His face was very red with exertion.

"Yes. I am he," Jeremiah chuckled. "Orange?"

"In a minute, My Lord," Sullivan sucked in a deep breath, straightened his back, and made a visible effort to look presentable. He whacked dust from his pants and wiped sweat from his brow. And then the expression on his aging face became very serious indeed. Jeremiah Gottwald was suddenly apprehensive.

"My Lord," Sullivan said humbly, "It's…it's Empress Nunnally…"

Jeremiah's expression darkened. "Yes?"

"She… they're saying she's very sick, My Lord. Something came out of nowhere, the doctors only just saved her life."

Jeremiah's teeth, inside his mouth, clicked painfully together. "And?"

"She's being tended at Aries palace, in her own room, My Lord. They say she is in a deep coma. They…they say…" and Sullivan's face fell. "they are saying she may never come out of it."

There came a silence. This was an utterly terrible thing. Jeremiah's contentment crashed down around him. He plumbed the depths of sorrow in a few short seconds, as his eyes fell to the orange in his hand.

"I think, Sullivan," he said sadly, "we may both need an orange." And he again extended his hand. Sullivan took the orange sheepishly, with mumbled thanks. And Jeremiah, without looking, took another for himself and began to peel it. His gaze was in his lap, and so he did not even inspect the quality of his own orange.

Part of him wished for an orange that was black with rot, one suited to his black mood. A foulness in his senses might cleanse him briefly of the foulness in his heart. But it was not so--his orange was ripe and perfect. It burst in his mouth as he bit into it, and, amazingly, he did suddenly feel much better. His faith in oranges was felt anew, and he stared at the fruit in wonder.

He looked to Sullivan. "Do you like it?"

"Yes, My Lord," Sullivan nodded politely in between tiny nibbling bites.

And as he continued to devour his orange, Jeremiah ruminated. He said to Sullivan, in a moment, "What is the reaction? Who is taking the Regency? Prince Schniezel?" As Sullivan considered an answer, Jeremiah continued to think. If Schniezel were to be Regent, then Zero was as good as Emperor. Jeremiah wondered if that were to be desired. But Jeremiah knew Zero. That man had no desire for power.

"Actually," Sullivan frowned, "that's the odd thing. Prince Schniezel proposed not twenty minutes ago that the House of Lords select a Regent from the nobility."

"The nobility?" Jeremiah frowned. "What of the royal family? If not Schniezel, then what of Princess Cornelia?"

Sullivan shrugged. "She hasn't been heard from. Schniezel just went on the news and indicated that the Empire might be headed towards a more representational form of government. The end of direct monarchy." Sullivan shrugged, and bit his orange. Jeremiah noted with satisfaction that the other man was looking somewhat revitalized. "Everyone's scratching their heads over that one, My Lord Jeremiah."

"The nobles," Jeremiah said distastefully. What was Zero thinking? Cornelia, even Schniezel, would make an excellent ruler. Why had Zero commanded Schniezel to make his statements about abolishing the monarchy? The nobles were elitists, expansionists, nationalists, warmongers. Zero longed for a just society above all, Jeremiah knew, and perhaps to him this seemed like justice. But to throw Britannia to the nobles? Jeremiah scoffed.

Jeremiah came to a conclusion. "I must go and see this for myself. Jump aboard the cart, Sullivan."

"Milord?" Sullivan inquired meekly.

"Unless you'd rather jog back home again, you'd better climb on. We're going to Pendragon."

Sullivan managed a smile. "In a tractor?" But he clambered aboard.

Jeremiah just laughed and turned the key. The tractor coughed and roared to life, and he spun the steering wheel and stepped on the gas. They veered about, bouncing over the ruts that had been dug by frequent use. The villa prettily dominated the distance. As Jeremiah directed them home, he mused that he would have to call young miss Anya Alstreim to cancel the visit she was supposed to make tomorrow. Jeremiah sorely regretted this necessity, for her love of his villa and the beautiful grounds which surrounded it rivalled his own, and when he watched her sitting in the shade beneath one of his orange trees, or climbing a ladder to pick fruit from the branches, he thought he saw something precious unfold in her, something which she had lost, something of life. If she were not a Knight, he would surely have offered to take her in as a ward by now. As it stood, her frequent visits were more than welcome, and, in fact, she was one of his only remaining friends. Few thought highly of Empress Nunnally's decision to allow Jeremiah to remain a peer of the Empire, a Britannian Lord. Most scorned him for his role in Emperor Lelouch's rise to power. But Jeremiah would have gladly taken all their scorn upon himself, had it been possible. It wounded him bitterly to see the sum of all their rage and hate piled upon Lelouch, who in truth deserved only their reverence.

No one would ever understand his sacrifice.

No one except Jeremiah, and Zero.

"Your Requiem, Lelouch," he mumbled bitterly. "We must make it last."

Sullivan leaned towards him and called over the sound of the engine. "You said something, My Lord?"

"Nothing," Jeremiah said.

In all honesty, Jeremiah would have loved nothing better than to ride his tractor, dragging a cart of oranges, into the Imperial Capitol. Yet he was short on time, perhaps. They sidled up next to the villa, disembarked their peculiar conveyance, and mounted the wide steps. Jeremiah hauled open his heavy cedar doors, went inside where the air-conditioned chill soothed him, and clattered up the slowly spiralling wooden staircase to his chambers. In his lavatory he showered for a minute and a half under lukewarm water while scrubbing himself vigorously, then emerged and dried himself on a plush beige towel. Naked, he looked into the mirror and combed his hair. He raised a corner of the towel to dab droplets of water from the metal implant in his face, then used his remaining eye to wink at himself in the mirror. The iris was the color of fire.

He dressed finely and left the house through the front door, which a servant closed behind him. Sullivan, always quick, was waiting in the driveway with a car. Jeremiah opened the back door himself and sat straight backed on the black leather, while Sullivan got them under way. They drove out past the lines of closely trimmed fir, which Jeremiah often felt were too cultivated, and too unnatural. He preferred his back yard, where the orange trees grew wildly.

The wrought-iron gate scanned their car and opened for them, and they drove a further couple of minutes to the country highway. From there Pendragon was a two hour drive to the northeast. Jeremiah calmly and silently waited in the back seat as Sullivan drove. From time to time he would raise his sleeve to dab at a droplet of water that had found its way onto his left cheek, which was a normal occurrence after a shower. Water always found its way into the interstices of his cybernetic eye. It was a trifling concern, but several of his peers had tried to embarrass him at a party some weeks ago, pointing out that his metal eye was 'crying'. Jeremiah was no longer fazed by such petty things. He could no longer clearly remember the man he had once been, the man who would have been mortified.

Along the way he decided that it might do to give them some warning of his arrival. So he called them from his car along the way, to inform them that he would be visiting Empress Nunnally at the palace. This created much bewilderment, and then Jeremiah hung up with a smug expression on his face.

They arrived in Pendragon amidst a light rain. The sky was grey. Two kilometres to the north lay the smooth crater where ten millions had died in an instant. The Imperial Villa at Aries lay on the outskirts and thus remained undamaged. This was where Empress Nunnally lived and held court, these days. Within sight of the FLEIJA catastrophe Schniezel had unleashed.

Sullivan drove right up to the gatehouse of Aries, rolled down his window, and spoke to the rain spattered soldiers who stood guard. Word of Lord Jeremiah's arrival had preceded him. The soldiers bent over, peered inside the car, and instantly recognized him. The gate rolled open and they were waved through.

They slid into the courtyard of Marianne's palace.

It would always be Marianne's palace, to him. This was where she had been living at the time of her death. And he. This was where he had protected her, had sworn his loyalty. And he had never failed to protect her in this place. But at Britannia Palace, to the north, she had died. He had failed. And, certain that the cause of her death had been traitors within the Royal Guard, Honorary Britannians who had held their grudge, he had embarked on his campaign of purism.

Jeremiah let out a long sigh and allowed himself to slouch ever so slightly in the back seat. He put his forehead against the cold window and peered out. He had not been here in years and years, yet he remembered every detail. There was the row of pillars, there the flagpoles. Here they drove by the garden with its marble statues, here they neared the cut stone steps. He had failed her, Marianne.

Had he failed her son Lelouch?

And now Nunnally.

But Jeremiah shook his head sharply, accidentally clicking the top ridge of his implant against the window. Sullivan approached the front steps and slowed, and they were halted by armed men in Britannian colors. Jeremiah Gottwald, feeling as old as the Palace itself, opened his door and rose to his feet. Rain bounced off his shoulders as he glanced about. At least the Empress seemed well guarded: a whole squadron of mass-production Vincents stood guard on the front lawn.

Jeremiah frowned. Marianne would throw a fit about the grass.

"My Lord Gottwald," a masked infantryman approached with a curt bow. Rain trickled down his chin. "We will lead you to Empress Nunnally."

Jeremiah's eye scanned back and forth across the villa and its familiar grounds. "I know my way about this place, soldier."

But the man was undeterred, as if he had not heard him. "Follow me, My Lord," and he turned and started towards the villa's main entrance. Jeremiah snorted at the insolence, but made no comment. He leaned before Sullivan's window, tapped it, and bid the man to wait for him. The infantryman and five indistinguishable others awaited Jeremiah on Aries' sprawl of carved steps.

Jeremiah climbed the stairs reverently and slowly, with each step remembering another facet of his stay here. When he reached the top, the soldier he'd spoken to put a hand to his ear and spoke lowly into his microphone. There was a moment's rest, and Jeremiah tilted his head back to welcome the rain which drizzled off of Aries' vaulting roof. The grey cloud cover flowed liquidly past the stark shape of the villa, and the flags snapped in a gust of wind. Jeremiah smiled.

And then the massive carved wooden door was hauled open by another soldier on the inside, who nodded to his comrades and admitted them wordlessly. Jeremiah stepped out of the rain and into the warm interior, where he wiped his boots on the red carpet of the entrance way and shook himself off. He looked this way and that, taking in the new details and the old: the paintings along each wall had been rotated out for newer ones, but the two suits of ancient Celtic armour that guarded the entranceway were the same that had always been there. The glowed dully under the dim light of the chandelier.

"My Lord," the soldier said, regarding him invisibly from behind the facemask. He and his men had not wiped their feet. They stood dripping onto the terrazzo tiled floor. Jeremiah scowled, but followed them. They passed down the wide hallway, past the red pillars and the dark mahogany doors. Jeremiah heard a nearly silent footfall behind him, and turned; a liveried maid had emerged from a side passage and was mopping the floor even as they walked through, her eyes on the floor.

Sometimes Marianne had used to help the maids, Jeremiah remembered with fondness. She hadn't been born into royalty, had been uncomfortable with the deferential service her ladies in waiting gave her. She'd made all of them her friends. She'd known all of their names. The first time Jeremiah had seen Marianne with a dustpan and broom, he'd only been able to stand there with his eyes bulging from his sockets. And then, stammering, he'd blundered over to her and insisted that he take the peasant instruments from her hands.

She'd only laughed at him. And kept on dusting. It had happened in _that_ room, he realized, the one that they were passing at that moment. He paused in mid stride, gazing at the double doors which were poised half-open. Through them he saw drawn white curtains, a heavy varnished table. He remembered them. Emotion overcame him, and a tear formed at each of his eyes to run down his cheeks. Warm.

"My Lord?" said the soldier, with some impatience, and Jeremiah turned towards the man in order to show him, openly, the depth of his sorrow. But he realized belatedly that his face was already covered in droplets from the rain. So Jeremiah continued to follow, allowing the two warm streams of sadness to remain where they were. It was a good day for sorrow, he thought. He could wallow in it, in this rain and gloom, and soak in the sheer feeling of it. He could spend all day sitting by Nunnally's side, doing nothing but remembering, and nursing his heart. And then the sun would rise again, the next day.

They stood before Lady Marianne's chambers. This would be where Empress Nunnally resided these days. The soldier held the door open for Jeremiah, who nodded his heartfelt thanks and stepped alone into the room.

The lights were out and everything was coloured grey.

The bed seemed lonely in the corner of the room, beside the arched, ceiling-high windows. Zero sat motionlessly in a chair beside the bed, his black form melting into the darkness of the chamber.

"Zero," Jeremiah nodded in acknowledgement and approached the bed.

She lay on her back beneath the covers, her hair tousled about her. Her delicate lips, nose and chin were masked behind a plastic breather. Her eyes were closed again, as they had been for a decade, and the sight of it dealt another blow to Jeremiah's heart. As he listened, he could hear her tiny soft breaths. Beside her, a machine was recording her vital signs, and an IV drip leaked some clear fluid into the vein of her left wrist.

"What happened, Zero?" Jeremiah asked, not taking his eyes from Nunnally. "How did she come to be like this?"

The helmet inclined forwards as Zero's gaze fell regretfully to his lap. He spoke at length, sadly: "A hemorrhage in the brain tissue. Her wheelchair went over the stairs in the north wing, and she struck her head."

But even as Zero was saying this, Jeremiah's grief was overpowered by a sudden feeling that something was not right here. The voice… Zero's voice…

Jeremiah scowled and advanced a step towards Zero.

"Who are you?"

The helmet cocked in surprise. "I am Zero."

"Stand up," Jeremiah commanded. The other did not obey, nor acknowledge that he had heard.

Jeremiah advanced another step, his teeth gritting upon each other. "What is this? Where is he? What have you done with Zero?"

The black caped shoulders tensed, as the impostor minutely shifted his body away from Jeremiah's presence. Suddenly taken by rage, Jeremiah cast his eyes upon the unconscious Nunnally. "I understand now," said Jeremiah grimly. His living eye, the one of fire, turned to blaze at the blank helmet of the other. "Tell me how to wake her. I'm not fooled any longer." Jeremiah balled his hands into fists and stalked across the room towards the black form beside Nunnally. "Tell me how to wake her, or I swear I will rip your throat from your neck, you bastard--"

But the other, as Jeremiah closed upon him, nimbly thrust a hand inside his cloak and produced a silver handgun, and pressed it to the side of sleeping Nunnally's temple.

Jeremiah gasped, "_No_."

"Don't move," Zero warned. The metal weight of the barrel chafed against her skin. Jeremiah watched, his pulse pounding violently in his ears.

"Please, don't--" Jeremiah began, but then he heard the heavy doors sweep open behind him, and the booted feet of the Britannian infantrymen clatter inside. He did not turn, but he felt a weight lifted from him.

"Be careful," Jeremiah said grimly, "He's armed. That man is not--"

But then he felt a brutal seizing inside his body, an fist of electric pain that tightened around his muscles and organs like a vice. His teeth chattered roughly against each other. And he felt another wet warmth trickling down his face, and tasted the blood on his tongue. His limbs spasming, Jeremiah managed to turn and witness the green-glowing device which was in the soldier's hands.

"Gefjun… disturber…" he grunted, and collapsed onto the floor and went away to a place of memory and darkness.


	3. The Dogs of War

On the televisions of the world, the news was playing again.

Milly Ashford sat primly before a desk, unsmiling, and cleared her throat. Superimposed to the right of her head was a small file-photo of Empress Nunnally in her ever-present wheelchair, a reference for anyone who didn't know quite what this story was about.

"It has now been confirmed," Milly Ashford said on the televisions of the world, "that Empress Nunnally has suffered critical head trauma and is at his time in a deep coma. Prince Schniezel and the mysterious Zero have now both commented on the matter, confirming what we'd only heard in rumours up until this point."

In his office in Tokyo, Prime Minister Ohgi Kaname sat grimly watching from his high backed chair. He pursed his lips and rubbed at his chin with a hand.

Milly Ashford continued: "The 100th Empress' doctors are saying that it is impossible to predict when she will emerge from her coma, if ever. Truly, this is a tragic occasion for the Empire, and, indeed, the world." Her blue eyes fell momentarily, with sadness, to her notes.

In her bedroom, Kallen Kouzuki paused from writing on a sheet of paper and put her pen down with a slight frown. She picked up the remote and raised the volume on the TV several levels, then set her hands on her knees and leaned forwards.

Milly said: "In the wake of this tragedy, we've been receiving some conflicting information about a possible restructuring of the government. Yesterday, First Prince Schniezel finally made a definitive announcement that will likely be the subject of much heated discussion, in the days to come. We'll show that clip now."

Schniezel appeared, in an exquisite gilded white coat. His usual expression of glacial calm, emanating from his smile and his pale blue eyes, was in place. He said, "I can now confirm to you all, the people of Britannia, that the powers of our monarchy will be undergoing some drastic changes. Myself, members of the House of Lords, and Zero have all conferred at length, over the last few days, on the subject. We have agreed that my dear younger sister, the Lady Nunnally, shall remain the Empress as long as she still lives. While she recovers from this calamity, the governance of Britannia will fall to a Provisional Council, whose members will include myself, a number of peers from the nobility, and Zero."

There was a commotion among the gathered press, a flurry of questions. The name of Zero could be heard to emerge from many mouths, some voicing approval and some indignation. After an effortless pause, Schniezel indicated one of the reporters in the front row, who jumped eagerly into the gap provided for him. He said: "What about Princess Cornelia?"

And Schniezel smiled again. "My dear sister is currently in protest of this new direction; however, she would be welcome at any time to join this new Council with me, if she so chooses."

Another reporter had a chance to speak. She said, earnestly: "A word from Zero, please? Does Zero have anything to say about all this?"

Schniezel glanced off-screen, then nodded graciously and withdrew from the podium with a white-gloved gesture. Zero flowed, tall and sleek, onto the screen from the left. He stood before the podium, placed his black fingers upon it, and spoke: "This is the beginning of the justice that we all have striven for. Nevermore shall a corrupt ruler bend the power of this Empire to his or her will. I am only saddened that Empress Nunnally will not yet witness the implementation of this plan, the adoption of which was her own idea. I am honoured to continue my role as a defender of the innocent, in this new faculty with Prince Schniezel and the Lords of Britannia."

On a hotel bed in Kyushu, the girl, whose only appellation was C.C., stirred and raised her head to look, frowning. The rivers of bright green hair twisted about her as she lazily propped herself upright. Her eyebrows lowered curiously over her placid yellow eyes.

"Zero," another reporter demanded attention, and the black helmet nodded slightly in acknowledgement. The woman continued, "Will Empress Nunnally ever regain consciousness? I mean, realistically? If she does, will she reallocate more powers to her position again?"

Zero's cloaked shoulders squared as he hesitated. "That will be for her to decide. I believe… I have faith that she is strong enough to come through this. And when she does, I believe that she will support the decisions we've made in her absence."

And then Milly Ashford reappeared on the screen and said, a smile managing to return to her face. "Well, this is certainly a new direction for Britannia. But is it the right direction? Please voice your opinions at our website--"

Zealous Shadow was no longer paying attention, in the lounge in Shanghai.

Midday sunlight filtered in through the glass walls, illuminating the silvery city which lay behind him. He sat isolated at the bar, the people who engaged in various activities around the lounge ignoring him. Most of them wore expensive clothing and were beautiful. Most of them were from Britannia--the lounge was owned by a Chinese business who knew how to bring in the Brits. They flocked to the bar to get drinks and chat up other beautiful people, flashing white smiles and, in the case of the women, lots of carefully tanned skin. Membership here was expensive, but Zealous Shadow was allowed a fairly considerable discount, because he and the owner went way back.

The owner, a man by the name of Xiao Lim, had lived a very eventful life so far. He'd started in medical school as his father and his father's father had. And then, just to make everybody angry, he'd given up on all that to pursue a life of horrible danger, as a mercenary. It was in this unforgiving line of work that Zealous Shad had met him. They had exchanged bullets, and later words, and then still later, improbably, they'd exchanged vows of unbreakable friendship. After, Xiao Lim had retired and started up this place.

Zealous Shad had not retired.

As if to make this point abundantly clear, a man in his early twenties pressed through the crowd of rich drunk Britannians towards Zealous Shad. This man arrived at Zealous' side, grinned, leaned upon the bar, and produced a hefty brown cigar which he lit with the silver lighter from his shirt pocket. He sat beside Zealous and emitted smoke from his nostrils.

"Thieving," Zealous nodded in greeting, and took a sip of his chai tea.

Thieving Shadow was wiry and sunburned beneath his fitted button-down shirt and denim trousers. A pair of mirrored silver shades obscured the eyes which Zealous knew were a cold blue. Thieving's short hair curled luxuriously and was brown. He was flagrantly in violation of the dress code but was not concerned with such things. He returned Zealous' nod and attracted the attention of the vest-clad Chinese barman.

"Rickard's Red, from the tap," Thieving said, and the barman nodded.

Zealous Shad turned to Thieving Shad. He was a slightly larger man than Thieving, but no stronger. He was twenty-two. His hair was black, short, and ignorant of gravity. He said, "What's the word?"

"We're good to go," Thieving received his beer atop a flimsy coaster, took a long sip. "Five hours."

Zealous' dark eyebrows raised. "Five hours? To deploy in Vladivostok?" He stood from the bar, quaffed his tea, and flicked a piece of lint from his jacket. He waited, as Thieving took another languid drink. Zealous said, presently. "Is this really the time to be drinking?"

"Sure," Thieving made a shrug. "It's, what? A two hour flight?"

"Two and a bit."

Thieving waved a hand dismissively. "We got time."

Zealous blinked, one eyebrow cocked. He said, "What about the pre-runs? The new energy fillers? Ammo?"

Beer continued to disappear down Thieving's throat. "Don't worry about it," he placated. "They're taking care of it."

"And Excalibur's new float system?"

Thieving scowled. "That thing cost way too much…"

"Is it working?" Zealous wanted to say 'this time?', but refrained.

"Yeah."

Zealous Shad paused for a long moment, motionlessly observing the other man. They had known each other for a long time. Thieving was careless but not dangerously so. Zealous' shoulders twitched in a minimal shrug, as he sat back down and ordered another chai tea.

Seven hours later, Zealous Shad hung in the command chair of a Knightmare Frame, approaching the broken Russian coastline. He and Thieving were being supplied with dropships for this one, by their client, which made matters more expedient, but he always felt a little uneasy around rented air transport. He didn't know the pilots, had no way of insuring that they stuck around to fly him back again. And he had to presume that they weren't going to just drop he and Thieving into the ocean from ten thousand feet.

Well, if that were the case, the float system would negate his problems (if it worked this time). But Thieving's custom Sutherland wasn't equipped with the device.

Squashing his misgivings, Zealous engaged the Excalibur's view screens and was rewarded with a birds-eye view of the Sea of Japan, crawling by past below him. A million points of sunlight glinted off the waves.

Thieving's voice crackled in his headset. "Okay, show time. We got five minutes until 'feet dry'. Let's run it through."

Zealous clicked his mic in response, as he brought up his computer systems and began a pre-run check.

"Okay," Thieving said indulgently. "Our target is a rebel convoy scheduled to move from the waterfront inland at approximately five PM, V.L.A.T."

Zealous glanced at Excalibur's digital clock and saw that it was off--he'd forgotten to change from Chinese time. He did so now.

Thieving continued: "The convoy is transporting sakuradite smuggled straight out of Japan, so watch those trucks when they go off. Our client, the independent state of Primorsky Krai, wishes to not have that stuff find its way into components for rebel Knightmares--don't blame 'em, frankly."

Zealous glanced up. The coast loomed ahead, starkly, the grey of rock encrusted with the deep green of foliage. The port city, Vladivostok, lay nestled upon the Shkota Peninsula, a thick finger of land which extended out into the Sea of Japan. Zealous could already see the cloud of smoke which rose from a thousand or more fires in the hotly contested city. Vladivostok was now more or less owned by the rebels, and they were busily putting its factories to work on Knightmare Frames and other weapons of war to use against the government of the Krai. The smog which rose from the city was of two parts: the first part was the smoke from the forest of spire-like chimneys, hard at work. The second smoke was from the fighting, and the fires which raged out of control in some parts of the city.

Thieving spoke as they drew closer. "The rebel paintjob is a red hammer, got it? Client says we're looking for three to seven armoured trucks, with light vehicular escort. They should be departing from the direction of Golden Horn Bay. Eyes open."

They came in low above the waterfront, the dropship pilots weaving nimbly around the huge steel cranes. Dust plumed up from the concrete as they came in for the drop, the metal arms tilting their bipedal cargo into a vertical position. And then they braked hard and released the clamps. Zealous felt freefall in his gut for a split second and then Excalibur's feet hit the ground and the legs flexed, absorbing the impact. He felt a familiar dawning giddiness, as he became accustomed to the loose fluidity of the power he now had at his disposal, the precise twitch based handling of a Knightmare Frame. There was nothing quite like it.

A flick of his wrist swivelled the torso and he saw Thieving's black Sutherland giving him a look. The Sutherland was an out of date model, but Thieving's real gift was infantry combat anyway. He was a passable Knightmare pilot, but not exceptional.

The Sutherland's land spinners snapped down, kicking up a plume of dust from the concrete wharf. Zealous engaged his own, and said: "Lead on, Boss."

They skated across the waterfront, leaving dust trails and furrows of crushed asphalt. When they arrived at the designated interception point, they found nothing. An ancient Japanese cargo vessel, massive and rusting, loomed alone beside the pier. Thieving decided that their quarry must have left early, and so the two Knightmares set off in the direction of the factories the rebels had appropriated. The city was, for all intents and purposes, deserted. Many of the buildings were burning or had been reduced to rubble.

They decided that Zealous would get a bird's eye view, so he reluctantly engaged the Excalibur's float system, which warmed up with a low hum. Then he lifted into the air and came to rest on top of a short apartment building, accidentally crushing some air-conditioning units. He activated the factsphere and gave the area a scan with his radar, and came up with unidentifiable contacts to the north. He flicked his telescopic zoom on and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. In the narrow streets ahead, dark forms made movement. His image focused, and he saw a flash of red on the black shoulder of a Frame, as it ducked behind a building. The red hammer.

"Enemy contact," he told Thieving. Then he started in surprise as his external microphones picked up a sharp crack from behind him. He swivelled, saw Thieving's slash-harken embedded into the wall. The Sutherland clambered up onto the roof beside him and began readying its weapon, the HX750 anti-Knightmare long rifle.

"Go engage them," Thieving told him. "I'll provide support."

Zealous disapproved. "Visibility's bad from this spot."

"I'm not done climbing yet," Thieving chuckled. He pivoted, and his slash-harken departed again in a puff of smoke. Zealous turned to look: Thieving had harpooned another building, this one much taller. The Sutherland swung off the roof and impacted the side of the taller building, shattering windows, then began to scale the side.

Zealous turned and dropped off the roof. The float system carried him gently to the ground, and he set off towards the enemy Knightmare he'd spotted in the streets.

Thieving spoke in his headset. "Much better up here. I'll be your eyes. I'm gonna patch my factsphere report to yours."

And suddenly a cluster of red blips appeared on Zealous' screen, some ways to the north. After a slight delay they began to identify themselves. Thieving narrated. "Those are our sakuradite trucks all right. I count two APCs and three Knightmare escorts. Makes things trickier--I wish we had good intel for once. You're almost on 'em. The street parallel to you, about four blocks up."

Zealous slowed as he approached, sidling up beside a building. He leaned out around the corner, took a peek. The Knightmares looked like nothing more than Glasgows with paintjobs, though he supposed it would pay to be cautious. There were five sakuradite trucks, big green army ones, with canvases drawn over their cargo.

"Cover your eyes," Thieving said, and Zealous though, blankly, _why?_

But then from within the formation of vehicles came a flash of light that hurt his eyes, even as he squinted and shied away, and the sound reached him through the headphones as a burst of loud static. One of the sakuradite trucks erupted into a violent blast and scattered pieces of itself bouncing in all directions. The Knightmares whirled about even as wreckage battered them, seeking the source of the shot.

Zealous took a look at the tall building Thieving had scaled, and saw a puff of smoke drifting off it--from the longrifle, he assumed--and then the enemy saw the same thing and opened fire, 10mm tracers streaking past to chew at the walls of Thieving's tower. Zealous whirled around the corner and let go with the slash-harkens, piercing the torso of one of the Glasgows. He engaged the float system and drifted around the corner, then reeled the slash-harken in, pulling himself towards the enemy. He shoulder-slammed the Glasgow he'd harpooned, throwing it off its feet, then swivelled and filled the second one with chattering SMG fire, perforating the cockpit with fire-edged holes. The mech lurched to one side, dying, and collapsed helpfully on top of one of the APCs.

Two of the trucks had crashed into each other. Zealous sent the Excalibur streaking backwards in midair, to get out of the blast zone. He was about to hit them with a slash-harken, then realized he might not get it back if he did. So he strafed the trucks with bullets, averted his gaze, and was rewarded with a titanic explosion that reduced the walls of the nearest buildings on either side of the street to rubble, and consumed the Glasgow he'd body-slammed.

"Two trucks left," Thieving told him. "Got ahead of the others--I don't have line of sight. That last Glasgow is hiding somewhere, too, so watch yourself."

And then, even as Zealous was about to ask about the second APC, he heard the long rifle explode again with a booming roar that echoed over the city, and he saw the vehicle disintegrate into a cloud of flying twisted metal and dirt.

Zealous flew straight up and alighted on the nearest building, some kind of office centre, hoping to get a shot at the last two trucks. He spotted them, trundling off down a side street, and was about to fire when he heard the whizzing of a slash-harken and saw that the last Glasgow had followed him up. The enemy mech closed in rapidly and tried to gut him with an MVS knife. Zealous whirled aside and triggered both slash-harkens, but the enemy deflected one with his knife and evaded the other. When the Glasgow reached for its assault rifle, Zealous closed in and knocked the weapon aside. They spun and clashed together in close combat, upon the small area of the roof.

Then Zealous remembered that he had floats, and swept sideways from the roof and hung in the air, preparing to simply shoot the other mech. The Glasgow, seeing this turn of events, sent a slash-harken towards him, no doubt intending to either drag him back or be carried into the air along with him. Just as Zealous was becoming intrigued by this move, the long rifle roared again, and the shell ripped into the abdomen of the Glasgow and split it in two, the torso toppling from the lower body amid a rain of shattered metal.

"Just when it was getting interesting," Zealous commented, and vaulted higher into the sky. He acquired the two final sakuradite trucks where they were flooring it down the narrow gap between a bombed out mall and a crumbling bank. He gave Excalibur a surge of speed and streaked toward them, roofs flashing by close below him. He imagined the grim spectacle that he must appear in their rear-view windows.

Then, just as he was about to chew them up with the SMG, he saw the first truck slam on its brakes and screech to a jerky halt. The cab doors were flung open, and two figures scrambled out and bolted for cover. The second truck rammed its fender, clumsily, into the rear of the first, and its operators, realizing the wisdom of their comrades, also abandoned their vehicle. Zealous waited a few moments until it seemed like no one else was left inside the trucks. Then he squared the first one in his crosshairs and let off a burst of SMG fire. The shells ripped into the canvas, leaving one, two, three gaping holes, and then both trucks erupted in a blinding pinkish flare that covered the whole street. Windows and walls in the adjacent buildings plumed outwards and scattered on the road.

"That's it," Thieving confirmed, "we're RTB. All hostiles accounted for. Congrats and condolences for a job well done."

Zealous' faith in his float system was by now pretty much restored. He flew over to Thieving's building, but didn't deign to set foot on it beside the black Sutherland. He hovered before the brink and watched Thieving prepare the slash-harkens for his descent.

"Having fun, are you?" Thieving said ruefully, as he swung over the side and began to rappel down to the ground.

"I'm flying," said Zealous, following the Sutherland's progress down the building from a few meters back. "What do you think?"

They congregated on the street and skated towards the extraction point, near the waterfront. Zealous gave the floats a rest and utilized his land spinners. While it was a joy to fly, the sheer agility of a Knightmare Frame, on land, was also inspiring. And there were obstacles to dodge or leap over, or run right through.

As they went towards the waiting dropships, Zealous checked his Yggdrasil drive, noting that he was only at about sixty percent power. The operation had been very short, yet the use of the floats had undoubtedly drained energy a bit faster than usual.

Their rides awaited them faithfully.

After the pick-up, it was the two hour flight back again to Shanghai, hanging face to ground through the evening. By the time they arrived at eleven or twelve at night, Chinese time, Zealous had managed to get a little sleep. When he awoke, the lights of the city were reflected, warping, in the black water. And then they descended towards their landing site. The pilots dropped them off, said curt farewells, and flew off to their own horizons. Zealous and Thieving stomped into their rented hangar.

Zealous powered down the view screens and computer, yawning, then opened the cockpit and disembarked. Once on the ground he hit the remote lock on his key, and Excalibur's hatch slid closed and sealed itself. He and Thieving took care of a couple pieces of business in the hangar, like connecting energy fillers and doing a quick walk around, then left. They stopped by the office to sign a bit of paperwork for the army secretary, said hello to a couple of people they knew, and left.

Mercenaries were frequently employed by the Chinese Federation. Space on the army's bases could be rented out, provided one had the proper licences and documentation. Contracts for clients other than the Chinese Federation invariably had to make their way through the head office, to make sure none of the mercenaries were being employed against them, of course.

Zealous and Thieving had been around, though. This arrangement with the Chinese authorities was sort of a new thing, and perhaps temporary. The Russian regions were a gold mine for war profiteers, and so right now China was essentially the place to be for mercenary work. The government was accommodating, and China was a hub to other hotspots. Thieving had his finger on the pulse of a black market which spanned the globe: he knew people all over the war industry--which was where their airborne transport for today had come from. They'd even seen work in that uprising in Japan, a couple years back: Britannia never employed mercenaries, of course, but the Black Knights had been looking for help. Someone let Thieving know, and Thieving said they were interested. Not much had ever come of it, though. One or two simple operations, maybe. Working with freedom fighters was aggravating: they were always hoping to convert you to their cause. Governments had no such illusions about their mercenaries.

With Britannia's troops withdrawn from all the Areas in the last year or so, an all time high for the war economy had come about. All the factions itching to get each other bloody were now free to do so, and the ones with money usually loved to spend it on expensive foreign specialists.

They called a taxi and took it to their condominium beside the river Bund. They ascended the elevator, slouching in silence. Thieving's silver sunglasses were back. They unlocked the place, went in. Zealous muttered something about the night being good, and then went into his room and became unconscious.

Zealous Shadow awoke the next morning and took a long shower. He dressed, drank some coffee, and then discovered that Thieving had left already. So Zealous went about his daily business, strode down a few streets. He picked up some dim sum. Then he went, inevitably, to the lounge, and nodded to the girl at the door who knew his face well by this time.

It was morning, and the lounge was almost empty. Xiao Lim was wandering about the establishment hollering at his subordinates when he suddenly espied Zealous Shad and came over to him.

"Zee," Xiao Lim said with a wide grin showing a couple of crooked teeth. He was in his sixties, his wispy greying hair getting thin. "What's up? Good op?"

Zealous shrugged with his teeth bared in a crooked grin. "Yeah."

Xiao Lim clapped a hand on Zealous' shoulder. "You kill anybody?"

Zealous' lips closed on each other. "Sure."

But Xiao Lim was already walking away, chuckling. "Sit down, sit down." he indicated the stool, and Zealous obliged. "Chai tea, right?" Zealous nodded. Xiao Lim came around the bar. "I'll make it myself."

In this manner he and Xiao Lim chilled in each other's company for a while, until the patronage of the place got a little more dense and Xiao Lim was called away. Some time after that, Zealous received a text message on his cell phone, from Thieving Shad, indicating that they had received their money for the recent job.

The days proceeded like this, Zealous haunting the lounge and other favoured spots about the old city, living without difficulty. At night, he and Thieving would sometimes go off to bars or strip clubs. Every now and then, the ambiance of their dwelling would be accentuated by the presence of a woman, or two, or sometimes more. They came and went. It was a meditative style of existence, and Zealous was comfortable with it. He was entirely at ease. He spent his time being Zealous Shadow, and exalting in all of the things which this entailed, like chai tea and moonlit wandering.

One night he was taking a night-time walk along the Bund, with a Cantonese girl he'd met a couple of days ago, when his phone buzzed against his thigh. Normally in this situation Zealous would ignore the call, but a quick visual inspection showed that it was Thieving who hailed him. Zealous excused himself and answered.

He listened for a couple of seconds and then said, "You're kidding. A million?"

The girl perked up, and Zealous smiled at her.

Then he said, to Thieving, "Definitely. Better start packing."

What had happened was this: Thieving had received a call from an unknown person. This person was interested in putting together a small crew of specialists in order to undertake an operation. The nature of the operation was not known to them, nor was the identity of the client who required their services.

However, the importance of the operation was such that, as a demonstration of goodwill, this person had already given them a down payment of one million , each. Zealous' estate had just been doubled. And the unknown client had promised, upon completion of the mission, a further _twenty_ million to each of them, as well as all of the expenses required to complete the objective. Whatever that objective might be.

They merely had to meet with their client and decide if the mission were worth the money. Therefore, Zealous and Thieving began preparations to ship all of their equipment, and themselves, to the newly declared nation of Japan.


	4. The Lesson of Orange

They conducted Jeremiah roughly into a hard small room and shackled him to a chair. The Gefjun Disturber was never far away. He slumped in the centre of the room for a long while, alone but for the two guards who stood silently in the shadows. After an uncertain period of time, the metallic door swung soundlessly open, and a man entered, alone.

The man sat across the table from Jeremiah, in a pool of cold fluorescent light. This light gleamed upon his oiled curling brown hair, and upon the immaculate creases of his Britannian military uniform. He placed upon the table a black folder, which he flipped open and perused. Then he cleared his throat, looked to Jeremiah, and raised a hand beckoning the guards forward. The approached with ringing footfalls to flank him.

The man spoke with a smooth voice. "Well." He shook his head slowly, intertwining his fingers, and briefly met Jeremiah's eyes. "Well, well--I have some questions for you, My Lord of Orange."

"I also have questions," Jeremiah's voice, despite not being used in some days (perhaps--the keeping of time had eluded him), came easily to him.

The man's smile was easy and placid. "I think that, perhaps, my questions will take precedence over yours." His eyes dropped momentarily to the files arrayed before him, as he shifted minutely in his seat, raising a fingernail to scratch at some slight discomfort upon his cheek. "It is at this point evident that you _knew_ who Zero was." The man elevated his eyebrows until he was peering at Jeremiah, as though seeking his opinion. Jeremiah said nothing. The man sighed perplexedly: "Which is _puzzling_. You see, if you knew already who Zero was, then you must have _always _known. Even since his assassination of Emperor Lelouch, you see." The man's clean forehead wrinkled in a perturbed frown. He steepled his fingers and tapped them together. "Which raises interesting questions that have fascinating answers. For example: _why_ would you know Zero's identity?"

He leaned against the back of his chair and afforded Jeremiah a chance to reply. Instead, Jeremiah chose to ask his own questions:

"Where is the real Zero?"

After a moment's thoughtful pause, the interrogator continued, casually, his elbow resting on the chair and his finger dangling in midair. "You knew because it was planned that way. Because you were in on the whole scheme. A collaborator."

"Where is he?" Jeremiah demanded.

"It explains certain things," the man mused. "For example, on that day, your order to your men--you ordered them to allow _you_ alone to confront Zero."

"What have you done to the Empress?"

The man leaned forwards again with a conspiratorial smirk, eyebrows raised. "You _allowed_ Zero to kill Lelouch. It was part of the plan."

Jeremiah's mouth twisted sourly. Sweat prickled on his forehead. "The machinery keeps her unconscious, I suppose."

"Another question--with another answer," the man said matter-of-factly. "Why would you allow Zero to kill Emperor Lelouch?" He smiled. "The answer is, of course, obvious."

Jeremiah was in stony silence, watching the other.

The man said, "You and Zero were working together, to overthrow Emperor Lelouch and take control yourselves. The perfect coup-d'etat, for--as we discovered recently--Prince Schniezel is bound to _Zero_, not Lelouch. A critical oversight on his part." The man grinned in satisfaction. "Assassinating an Emperor is an inestimably serious crime, My Lord. But it has been decided that we will suspend the death penalty in this special instance, because of Lelouch's undeniable tyranny."

Jeremiah ground his teeth, "Where is the real Zero?"

"Oh," said the man with a complacent shrug, "he's about. Perhaps in Lady Nunnally's chamber. Or at a press conference. Maybe in the shower in his suite at Aries," he laughed at his joke. "You saw him so recently, though--why ask?"

"The _real_ Zero," Jeremiah growled. "What have you done with him?"

At once, all mirth faded from the interrogator's face, as he leaned back, withdrawing until shadows crept over his face. "I think maybe you don't really understand what Zero is, My Lord," he said blandly. "Zero is a mask and a voice. Your friend who was Zero wasn't the real Zero either. Only fools and sheep believe the party line--that Lelouch was never Zero. He was the original. And then your friend, Kururugi, was Zero. Now, someone _else_ is Zero--the _real_ Zero, as you so naively insist. Zero is and always was nothing more than a tool. A defender of freedom?" The man enjoyed a hearty scoff. "Those words are only for the masses, and they always were. Lelouch used Zero as a tool to gain an army and a throne. You and your friend used Zero to overthrow Lelouch and gain power. And now," the man raised his hands palm up, "we're using Zero to undo your mistakes and make our society better."

Jeremiah sat quietly for a long while. Then he said, offhandedly, "You're wrong. I never betrayed Emperor Lelouch."

"You did. You ordered your troops to ignore Zero. You allowed him to evade you and kill the Emperor."

Jeremiah tried to cross his arms, but was too effectively restrained to do so. "You have conclusive evidence of this?"

The man's head cocked confusedly to one side. "Evidence? What need is there for evidence?" He shrugged. "If you'd like, I can arrange for some to appear. I could sign a few forms, documents--to get witnesses, maybe some fingerprints, or a confession even. I don't see the use, really--waste of paperwork. Evidence won't make you more or less culpable than you are." He chuckled, pointed a finger at Jeremiah. "I've never understood this obsession with _evidence_, like it's some kind of sacred, infallible essence of fairness. Evidence is the most malleable thing in the world. Dependence on evidence will inevitably get one into trouble."

Jeremiah immediately recognized the mindset, with a mounting glumness. "You know," he told the interrogator, "you remind me of myself, back when I used to be a callous, self-serving, fraudulent excuse for a man."

The man clasped his hands together and laughed musically. "Very good, My Lord. That's very witty."

Jeremiah pulled at his shackles coolly, clinking them against the chair. He hunched forward, then raised his chin and met the man's eyes again. "Where is the real Zero? The _former_ Zero?"

The interrogator leaned back with an infinitely amused expression. "Of all the questions to ask in this situation--why do you continue to ask one which is of no consequence? You are going to learn the answer soon anyway, and it won't help you at all." He sceptically arched an eyebrow and pursed his lips.

As he neatly rearranged the sheets in the folder and gently closed it, the two guards came towards Jeremiah at some unknown signal. The Gefjun disturber which one of them held was instantly glowing green again--a low charge, just enough to enervate him. They disentangled him from the chair and pulled him to his feet, he dangling helpless in their black-gloved embrace with his teeth buzzing on each other. The interrogator stood, receding out of the column of fluorescent light until his face disappeared. He went to the door and methodically placed his thumb on the reader, and Jeremiah heard the locks clank open.

The interrogator pushed the door open and stood on the threshold. He half-turned, eyes unseen in the gloom. He said almost sympathetically, "You'll be swept out of the public eye, of course. Don't worry. We'll take good care of the Britannia you so cleverly stole."

He stepped out of the room and was gone.

Jeremiah, in the company of his two silent guards, was ushered through the bowels of a pristine government complex that he had never heard of. They descended rickety metal staircases encased by shafts of grey concrete, and hunched through unlit sinister corridors. Finally, he was before a small door, which opened to admit him. There was a surge from the Gefjun Disturber which gripped his body with agony, and then they had shoved him inside the little room and the door had hissed shut behind him.

Jeremiah stumbled forwards and his chin hit the floor. For a long while, he lay on his chest in the position he had fallen, because he could not think of any reason to move. He recognized a startlingly potent spiral of despair which his mind had difficulty escaping. Despair was a truly terrifying thing in many ways, he mused while on his stomach in the darkness. Despair could corner the mind of even the most courageous person. The most insidious thing, of course, about despair, was its rationality. Despair was the most convincing, reasonable opponent in the world. It presented facts and probabilities, proved it's case like no lawyer could. It pretended to be one's companion, but was a poison.

The first thought of despair Jeremiah confronted was this: _I will never get out of this place._ And of course, with the disturbing certainty of despair, he _knew_ it. _Knew_ he was imprisoned for life. The second thought of despair was: _They will keep Nunnally unconscious forever._ His mind bent over in agony at this, kowtowed in awed horror to this thought of despair, that Nunnally would never awake, would never live again.

Slowly he recognized the despair for what it was. It thus identified, put in it's place, he revelled in it for a long moment, as he had revelled in his sorrow some unknowable period of time earlier. Just as a rainy evening was the perfect environment in which to experience sadness, a featureless prison cell cultivated despair. The profundity of his despair was more than any he had ever experienced, and soon enough he grew entirely content with it. He allowed tears to flow for a time, and then pressed his cheek to the cold ceramic floor and simply thought.

A very soft noise alerted him, suddenly, to the fact that he was not alone. His eyes had by now adjusted to the dimness; he glanced up and perceived a man slumped in the far corner of the little cell, dressed in the same brown prison fatigues that Jeremiah had found himself in. In astonishment, Jeremiah placed his hands on the floor and raised his upper body. He crawled forwards and positioned himself opposite his fellow prisoner, in the other corner. He sat with his back straight against the wall, legs crossed, and squinted.

"Is it you?" he asked the man, whose head was nodded forward onto his chest. The face was obscured by a shock of twisting dark hair. The limbs were lean and wiry where they hung listlessly out of the prison uniform. The man made no response.

Jeremiah said carefully, "Kururugi?"

Nothing. Jeremiah wondered briefly if the man had died here. But then he noted a very slight movement of breathing.

"Suzaku?" Jeremiah asked. "Suzaku Kururugi?"

Nothing.

Then Jeremiah pulled in a deep breath and said, "Zero?"

The mussed dark hair shifted, as the head lifted nearly upright. Jeremiah saw that it _was_ him. Kururugi's eyes, set in dark sockets, stared blankly at him. "So this is where you were," Jeremiah said, nodding. One question was now answered, and he felt moderately better.

Still, Suzaku Kururugi remained silent. His formerly boyish cheeks had developed a very sparse new stubble, and wrinkles pinched the corners of his eyes. Jeremiah thought he remembered that the young man's eyes were a dark green, but in the gloom it was impossible to tell.

"Zero," Jeremiah said again. "Yes, of course. Suzaku doesn't exist anymore, I suppose."

Zero rested his head against the wall. He opened his mouth, and a choked sound came out. Then he coughed, licked his lips, and made a guttural wheeze. His throat convulsed as he swallowed, probably wetting his mouth so he could speak for the first time in… how long? Days? Weeks? Perhaps longer.

"Lord Jeremiah," he said finally, his voice weak.

"Zero," Jeremiah eagerly edged forwards, "What have they done? Who are they? What's been done to Empress Nunnally?"

Zero said nothing for a long time. In fact, he remained totally silent, watching motionlessly, for so long that Jeremiah felt an impatience in himself. But then it occurred to him that there was really no urgency, in this place. It cost Zero nothing to delay his answer, for they had time to spare. Perhaps all of their time, now, to spare.

Zero said eventually, "Drugged me, I think. I don't know who they are. Some faction in the nobility, probably. Nunnally--" his whole face contorted hideously. "I don't know. What happened to her?"

"She's in a coma. I'm certain it's not natural--they probably are inducing it in some way."

Zero turned to the wall and bumped his forehead against it. Nothing more was said for several hours. Eventually Jeremiah reclined back on the floor and drifted fitfully in and out of sleep. Whenever he managed to snatch a little bit of blank unconsciousness from the jaws of his dreams, he was overjoyed. And despair took him again, as he imagined the rest of his life spent this way, his happiest moments being those spent without awareness. The first day or two (or three?) Jeremiah spent almost exclusively waiting for sleep. His back and sides ached before long, from the floor. He and Zero said little to each other. From time to time a little band of light would appear at the base of the door, and disgusting food would appear. Jeremiah ate automatically, but Zero remained in the corner and refused whatever he was offered, mutely.

Over time, Zero grew progressively thinner and thinner. Before too long Jeremiah could see his ribs beneath his collarbone. Many times, Jeremiah pleaded with him to eat, yet he refused utterly, and when Jeremiah tried to force him to eat, he found himself fended off with surprising force. Jeremiah grew steadily more and more worried for Zero's health, as the hours monotonously passed themselves.

In that place, Jeremiah began to understand a new conception of time. His life, to this moment, had been measured in increments. He lived in seconds and milliseconds, on the battlefield. He lived in hours and days, in peace. But in the cell with Zero he lived without these increments. Time all became one. There was no change, but for the gradually progressing emaciation of his companion.

One time, when the band of light appeared and the metal tray of food was slid into the room, Jeremiah as usual offered some of it to Zero. The man was lying on his side, eyes open but fluttering. "Zero," said Jeremiah concernedly. "You must eat. You'll die."

Zero moaned, his eyes blearily focusing on Jeremiah. "No…" he whispered.

"Please, Zero," said Jeremiah.

"No," said Zero.

But his hand slid forwards over the floor, fingernails dirty and broken. And then he was up on his elbows. "No…" he whispered plaintively. He crawled towards Jeremiah, panting with every lurching movement. "No," he said, over and over. "No, no, no."

"No," he said hatefully as he leaned over the tray of food.

"No," he said in horror as he dug his fingers into the paste and began to shovel it into his mouth. Jeremiah stared in fascinated shock. By the time Zero had finished the entire dish of the stuff, Jeremiah realized that the man was shaking with rage. Tears dribbled down his cheeks to spatter on the tray. "No," he moaned, spitting on the floor, bringing up globs of food, heaving, trying to vomit it all forth.

But he could not.

After a long while Zero simply lay panting, and Jeremiah sat solemnly beside him. "Jeremiah…" Zero whispered.

"Yes."

"Jeremiah… use your Geass canceller on me. Please."

"No."

Zero lifted his chin from the floor and surged forwards, his fingers, which were encrusted with food, grabbing at Jeremiah's knee. "_Please_. I've tried so hard to fight it. _Please_ cancel my Geass, so I can die."

"No."

Anger contorted his lips. "_Why not!?_" he shouted, raising himself from the floor. Zero leaned into Jeremiah and wrapped his fingers around his throat, forcing him back onto the floor. "Cancel my Geass!" he demanded again, pressing downwards, with his thumbs on Jeremiah's trachea.

"No," Jeremiah croaked. "No, I need your help."

The pressure was relieved, as Zero hesitantly removed his hands. But his knee still was driving into Jeremiah's stomach, holding him down. "Help with what?"

"Escaping, of course," said Jeremiah with a shrug. "And saving Nunnally."

Zero scoffed. But he lifted his knee and slumped aside, sprawling on the floor again, spread on his back. Jeremiah rubbed at his stomach and sat up.

"You know," said Jeremiah suddenly. "Looking at you, I don't see Zero anymore."

The other peered at him. "What do you see?"

"Suzaku Kururugi."

The other looked at him strangely for a long while. Then his head rested back against the floor. Quietly, he said, "That man is--"

But Jeremiah interrupted sharply, "If you say, 'That man is dead', I might lose my temper." He shook a finger at the man, Suzaku. "He's not dead. I'm looking at Suzaku Kururugi right now. You are a changed man, yes. But that doesn't make you anyone else. To think yourself dead is to lie to yourself. You were never _not_ Kururugi, you know. You became Zero. But you were Zero _and_ Suzaku Kururugi at the same time."

Suzaku said nothing. Jeremiah continued quietly. "The one person you should never deceive is yourself. You're no longer Zero and I won't call you that anymore. Someone's taken Zero from you. All you can be now is yourself. You can choose to live on as Suzaki Kururugi--_not_ the man you were, but the man you are."

There was a long silence between them. Suzaku lay in perfect stillness. Jeremiah's new understanding of time made it impossible to tell how much of it passed until they spoke again. It could have been a matter of seconds, or hours. Such measurements had no meaning anymore. Since nothing happened in between their conversations, it was as if the pauses really made no difference. Sometimes they would be silent for an immense period of time, only to suddenly pick up their same conversation from before as if it had never ended.

At some point, Suzaku said to him, "I heard you have a field of orange trees at your estate. Why would you do that? Is it a form of defiance, proving you don't care that everyone calls you Orange?"

Jeremiah smiled invisibly. "No. Nothing like that." He laughed. "For a long time I wouldn't touch an orange, hated the sight of them. But, you know," he shook his head ruefully, "when I was just a boy, oranges were actually my favourite fruit. My mother knew this and made sure that the pantries were always stocked with them. I always had an orange with my lunch. I knew the different kinds at a glance: mandarins, Satsuma, from Japan, or Valencia, from Spain." Jeremiah frowned. "As I grew older my love of them faded to a kind of affection. I rarely sought them specifically, but I still liked them. And then Lelouch made his fateful comment, which was never more than a hoax.

"I instantly hated everything that had to do with oranges. I was desperately afraid that someone--perhaps one of my old family servants--would tell people of my childhood fondness for them. When people asked me about Zero's 'orange' accusation, I would laugh helplessly and say that I knew nothing about it. I would often joke: 'I don't even like oranges. I hate the taste.' For more than a year I forced myself to hate oranges.

"Eventually, I learned an important lesson. It took me a long, long time to learn it. I learned that what other people think can never, under any circumstances, affect me unless I allow it to. And I learned that to change oneself for other people is to cheapen who you are.

"I grow oranges," Jeremiah concluded with a grin, "because I _like_ them."

Another long silence followed. Jeremiah found himself thinking about all that he had said. He ran through it all again, a certain satisfaction growing in him.

"So," said Jeremiah eventually. "Will you decide to be what _they_ want you to be? Or will you be Suzaku Kururugi?"

The question went unanswered for a time. They languished in silence. They slept. They woke. They existed. But soon the slot was flicked open and their daily food joined them in the cell. As the outside light briefly shone into the room, it fell upon Kururugi's gaunt face and illuminated it, and Jeremiah saw, for a flashing instant, the green glint in his eyes.


	5. Nagasaki Rendezvous

* * *

Hey everybody this is JDCT. I haven't uploaded anything new in a while, but now I have a freshly completed chapter for you all. I'm not normally big on author-reader interaction, but I found it very helpful to read the reviews that Continued Story has been getting, so from now on I'm planning to be more present.

1267223 mentioned that I should answer questions, make notes, and things of that nature, so I guess I shall.

I know it's been a long time since the last chapter but, in fact, I sat down the other day and realized that I had planned out about twenty chapters in my head for this story. It will probably be going on for a while. I have been busy with school and other writing projects, but I hope to have a new chapter done roughly once a week for this one (if possible).

So go ahead and ask questions: henceforth they'll be (probably) answered.

Anyway. Almost on to the chapter. Firstly, though, I'm going to answer a couple questions from AlsoSprachOdin. (who I hope is still around, I know it's been a while since the last chapter)

Q) Windows and walls in the adjacent buildings plumed outwards". That only happens if you break them from the inside, right?

A) True, but since the trucks were full of Sakuradite, I figured it might be interesting if the explosion were sort of FLEIJA-esque. I reasoned that since the FLEIJA obliterates 'everything', there might be a vacuum, so once the windows were shattered they'd fall outwards. Didn't really think it through, frankly, but at the time it seemed cool.

Q) Good one about despair, and the failed attempt at starvation was a very good idea too, although there was no mention of water, which Suzaku would have died without in three days. And... there's no toilet?

A) Haha no excuse for that one, except that I didn't look the chapter over enough. Yes, indeed, you're right. I'll probably go back and make things more sensible.

Q) You might want to consider using some page breaks instead of simply writing "x hours later".

A) I've gotten used to writing in a sort of minimalist style, at least in terms of devices not relating to actual text. It's intended to leave things as uninterrupted as possible, instead of broken like 'scenes' in a movie. The characters experience things without interruption. I also write using only one 'point-of-view' per chapter. It's intended to be immersive, I guess.

Well then. Without further ado, here's the new chapter.

* * *

4

They flew into Nagasaki Airport through a light rain. From the window seat Zealous could see lightning flashing in the distance of the night, out over the Sea of Japan. The cabin lights came on and they stood hauling their carry-on packs out of overhead storage. They travelled light these days--a dangerous mix-up in Heathrow had long dissuaded them from storing luggage below.

They disembarked the plane amid a crowd of yawning travellers, who all squinted at the harsh fluorescent light in the terminal. They dispersed, most going towards the luggage conveyors. Zealous and Thieving mounted an escalator to the second level, where fast food resided in neon-bedecked units, each tiny yet preposterously expensive for a potential businessman. At least-that was what Zealous had expected from his last visit, the traditional stock of Britannian fast food franchises. What he actually found, as they topped the escalator, was a place in transition. The identical steel-framed tables and chairs, which stood beside the guard-rail overlooking the terminal floor-these were the same as before. But many of the fast-food places had been closed: only two remained, a sushi bar and a Japanese burger place. All of the Britannian franchises were gone.

He supposed that was to be expected. He hadn't really kept himself informed, but word had reached him that, apparently, Prime Minister Kaname had recently begun a campaign to reform Japanese culture. Many of the Britannians had fled during a mass exodus. He hadn't really paid attention to the ordeal-he'd been in Sudan at the time.

It was two in the morning, Japan Standard Time, a huge LCD display proudly announced. Yet another of the plethora of minute changes implemented since Japan's emancipation. Zealous had never heard the term Japan Standard Time used in his own lifetime. In any event, this meant it was late, and so he and Thieving were alone on the promenade, but for the two fast food workers, who presently left their battlements to share a platter of maki at a nearby table.

Zealous ate his own rolls while Thieving bit into a cheeseburger, lip curling in distaste. He said, "This is a crappy burger."

Zealous gave a sagacious shake of his head. "Always get the local food. With the Brit investors gone, nobody knows how to make a burger anymore. Way it should be, if you ask me."

Thieving grimaced and dropped a limp strip of pickle to his tray. "Well, I'm not about to eat live fish."

"Raw," Zealous frowned. "_Raw_ fish."

"Whatever."

By the time they left the terminal, the storm had caught up with them. Rain fell straight downwards inside the cones of orange lamp light. They hailed a taxi and crossed the distance between the doors and it with a minimum of soakage. A Japanese face loomed out of the darkness of the front seat.

"Where to, guys?" he asked with a flat Britannian accent.

They had a reservation for that night at a nearby hotel. Thieving Shad said, "the ANA Hotel, Gloverhill."

The drive was just over an hour. Zealous sat in stillness with his forehead against the cool of the window. From time to time he would turn and observe Thieving, who had mastered the art of sleeping at any conceivable moment and in any position. Currently the man's mouth was open and his eyes were concealed behind shades: from time to time his head would lose equilibrium and would swoop forward in a nod, inevitably settling again against his headrest. Zealous was fairly certain that Thieving was asleep throughout the whole process, but with the sunglasses on it was difficult to tell.

Zealous had never been able to sleep so easily, and besides, watching Thieving kept him moderately amused. He also watched the night-blanketed sights of Nagasaki scroll by. They were on the outskirts of the old Britannian settlement, in an area which could loosely be described as countryside. The towns were smallish and the streets wide. The old city hadn't suffered to the extent that Tokyo had during the occupation, had remained mostly intact. Zealous recalled that the hotel they were going to had been renamed and taken over by the Britannians, had been nicely preserved, largely due to the fact that it had been built in emulation of European establishments. Now that the Japanese government had encouraged and even subsidized in-house businesses, the hotel was Japanese owned again.

The ride ended presently. Thieving paid the driver and they embarked across a short distance through what had become a downpour. They crossed a covered stretch of concrete, then entered the lobby through a quaint revolving door. The lobby was ornate beyond what Zealous Shad had expected: the floors were of a speckled, polished marble. Complicated chandeliers hung, fountain-like, from a wood-panelled ceiling.

Droplets of water pattered from their coats and meagre luggage onto the floor, as they crossed it. They approached the long counter of polished wood, behind which stood a red-vested receptionist. Zealous noted that a row of analog clocks lined the wall, each for a different major time-zone; this an immediately recognizable sign of an airport hotel. They verified their reservation, received a dazzling smile from the woman, and left her company. They ascended a gently curving stairwell to a carpeted second floor, where ranks of elevators awaited. They chose one, went up to the fifth floor, disembarked, and went in search of their room. Zealous unlocked the door with a card key, and they went in, already kicking off shoes and strewing extraneous pieces of luggage and clothing in the entranceway.

Thieving had a shower while Zealous lay on one of the beds, reading a book. When Thieving emerged, some minutes later, a bank of steam followed him. He padded across the carpet to his bedside, with a white towel fastened below his wiry upper body, then sat and collected his phone from the end table and flipped it open.

Zealous raised a questioning dark eyebrow, gaze lifting from his book.

"Yeah," Thieving said. "Apparently this mystery client is on his way here."

"Here, Nagasaki?"

"No," said Thieving, and extended a finger at the floor. "Here, this hotel. He says he'll be arriving for tomorrow evening, we can meet in person then. A 6:30 reservation at the restaurant downstairs."

"If you ask me," said Zealous, "it's gonna be something weird. For this kind of cash, it's got to be something crazy."

Thieving clawed at his bare shoulder while glancing away thoughtfully. His curling brown hair was damp from the shower. "I'm not about to speculate. We'll see tomorrow."

They sat around listlessly for a while, saying little. Presently Zealous Shad stood placing his book face down on the bedcovers, and went to the sliding glass doors at the rear of their room. He drew the heavy curtains aside, slid the doors open, and went out to the balcony and the night time air. He briefly eyed the glowing half-moon.

Thieving, having hatched a plan, was already following him out on bare feet, a cigar between his fingers. He leaned against the black handrail while biting the end off, then spit it from the balcony. He produced his silver lighter and lit the cigar, then puffed on it. The wind blew calmly, and the lights of the town glowed warmly below.

Zealous said, "You know anything about this city?"

Thieving released a cloud of smoke and responded: "Capitol of the Taranis Province? No real-"

"Actually…" Zealous began to interrupt.

Thieving corrected himself with a wave of his cigar. "Right; with the Britannians gone they're not provinces any more, they're back to being… what was it, prefectures?"

Zealous nodded.

"Did they keep they name Taranis?"

"No," said Zealous, "Nagasaki Prefecture."

Thieving snorted. "That's convenient. Or lazy." He grinned and blew out another cloud of smoke. "So Nagasaki is capitol of the _Nagasaki_, uh, prefecture. No real historical importance. Sort of got missed by the Black Rebellion and all that nonsense. Never been attacked outright, by the Britannians or by terrorists. Far as I know, it's been the same since the Edo period."

Zealous nodded with a widening smile. "Nice town."

Thieving shrugged, then nodded.

After Thieving finished his cigar, he flicked it over the side and they returned to the room. They lay on their beds and watched the news on the television. Nothing seemed to be stirring in Japan. Prime Minister Ohgi Kaname was the center of attention in almost everything, it seemed. He seemed to be enjoying a lot of feverish loyalty, Zealous mused. The Japanese people were so caught up in their patriotism at being emancipated, that Kaname could do no wrong in their eyes. That he was Japanese was enough to buy him the love of every former Eleven in the country. And some Britannians had stayed in the country as well. The news did a story on that, briefly, documenting the Japanese and Britannians who lived together in harmony. Everything seemed well and good.

Thieving, reclining in bed, said, "You know, I met Kaname once. Back when he was still with the Black Knights."

"I remember that," Zealous nodded. "He was our contact, though we never worked for them again."

Thieving said, with a frown, "Hey, I don't suppose _he_ could be our client, huh?"

Zealous turned an incredulous look across the gulf betweenthe beds. "The _Prime Minister_? Texting you about a job?"

"A job worth twenty-one million or so," Thieving pointed out. "He's got the cash."

"And an _army_, too," Zealous laughed. "So I don't suppose he'd have much use for two soldiers of fortune."

Thieving grunted and shrugged. There seemed to be no point in further speculation. They turned off the TV, the lights, then slept.

They spent the next day browsing through the town. They rode buses and looked at old buildings. Urakami Cathedral was of particular interest to Zealous; as he prowled its vast interior, Thieving lurked alone upon a long wooden pew and had to be asked by the priest to put out his cigar. The Cathedral dated back to the late 1800s, Zealous had read; it had been built by the Hidden Christians shortly after the ban on Christianity was lifted. Urakami had been untouched and was one of the few historical spots in Japan which the Britannians had not renamed during their occupation. Texts in actual Japanese script, which Zealous had never seen in person before, lay about the church. He wondered if there were many Japanese people left who still knew how to read their old language. During the Britannian occupation, no Japanese language or writing had been taught in schools. Surely the priests at Urakami had at least an understanding of the kanji in their ancient books.

Zealous Shad wished to consult further with the priests at Urakami, but the hour was growing later and Thieving was growing impatient now that he was disallowed from putting burning things in his mouth.

They returned to the Hotel as the sun was sinking into the west. It was nearing dinner-time, and Thieving was ravenous, it seemed. Zealous had tried to convince him to eat takoyaki from a street vendor, but upon learning that it was octopus he became opposed to the thought.

Thieving still seemed taken with the idea that it might be the Prime Minister of Japan who was going to be meeting them in the hotel restaurant, and Zealous hadn't the patience to dissuade him of it. To that end, Thieving dressed himself in a nice grey suit overtop a black shirt, and mourned that he had left his ties in Shanghai. Zealous just grimaced in amusement and tugged on his finest, in order to humour his friend.

They meandered through the halls as the appointed hour neared. In the descending elevator, Thieving's silver shades lowered as he lifted his phone from his pocket and checked a text message. "Ah, that's convenient," he said as he flipped the phone closed and stuffed it back into his pocket.

Zealous said, "What is?"

"He sent me the name of our reservation," Thieving said. "Hamako."

Zealous frowned slightly. The elevator doors split and they exited, then went down the sweeping stairs. They followed the signs to the restaurant, and at the entrance were met by a well-dressed server. Thieving told him the name they were reserved under and she led them inside, navigating past folded rice-paper barriers of the kind Zealous had seen in old samurai movies. He also instantly noted that the tables were all at roughly knee-level and that the chairs were engineered in a kind of modern/ancient fusion. It was apparent that one was supposed to sit cross-legged on a flat cushion with a chair-like backing. Zealous had never seen anything like it before. He hoped, vaguely, that Thieving would not cause some form of ruckus.

"Here you are, Sirs," the server bowed politely with a smile and indicated their table and its lone occupant, nestled into a corner of the establishment. The server arranged two more menus on the table, then two sets of packaged chopsticks, then bowed again and retreated. The woman at the table looked up from perusing her menu and blinked with boredom at Zealous and Thieving.

They stared.

The first thing that Zealous had noticed was her hair, which was bright green and apparently waist-length. The second thing he noticed was her beauty, for she was stunning even to he who had sampled the beauties of the world. Her skin was smoothly pale like a Britannian woman's, and her face was pretty with a kind of disinterested calm. The irises hovering in her eyes were yellow.

After a pause, and having glanced both of them over, the girl said, "Yes?"

Thieving cleared his throat. "You're Hamako?"

She didn't answer but instead asked, as she folded her menu closed, "You're Zealous Shadow?" Then she looked at Zealous. "And Thieving Shadow?"

"Other way around," Zealous smiled.

"Sit down, then," she negligently indicated the chair-like contraptions at her left and right. Zealous took a seat next to her, fumbling for his menu as he snuck an appraising glance at the girl, seeking a better image of what she looked like. Thieving had flopped into the seat across from him and was thrashing about as he tried to heave his cushion closer in to the table. Thieving shot Zealous a brief, smug look, and then both of them turned back to the girl, who was again embroiled in her menu.

Thieving stretched and shifted, trying to get used to the low seating arrangement. He glanced at the girl, then Zealous. Thieving said, "Wow, I'm getting pretty stiff."

Slowly, Zealous lowered his eyes to the table, closed them, and lifted a palm to smack his forehead in a private expression of his disbelief. But the girl did not seem to notice what Thieving had said. Thieving frowned down at the menu as he ceased in his shifting, and met the amused look that Zealous was sending his way across the table.

"Because I haven't sat cross-legged in a while," Thieving explained and then removed his sunglasses so he could pin Zealous with a dark glare. The both of them turned to watch the girl for a while, and it became apparent their antics were going unnoticed. Thieving shrugged at Zealous.

Zealous cleared his throat, "So, Hamako…"

Her eyes did not appear from behind the menu. "That's not my name."

Thieving brandished a grin, "What's your name?"

Now she lowered the menu to look at him. "You may call me C.C."

Zealous was careful to note that she hadn't said it was her name. Thieving picked up on this subtlety. "But it's not your name…" he mused almost in disappointment, tapping his chin with a finger.

"No. Is your name Thieving Shadow?"

He raised his eyebrows at Zealous, who shrugged. Then Thieving said, "Good point," as a waiter arrived to take their drink orders.

After he had respectfully waited for C.C., Zealous said over his shoulder, "Just water, please," an old habit from times of poverty.

"A bottle of champagne," Thieving commanded, and the waiter went off to fulfill his duties. Upon Thieving's face there blossomed a mischievous smile, his blue eyes sparkling. Zealous knew him well enough that he could, effectively, stare through the front of his skull and watch the lecherous percolations of his mind: he was intending to get this C.C. girl drunk. Zealous somehow had a feeling things would not go according to plan. She seemed too collected.

The evening proceeded onwards in relative silence. Zealous chose a Japanese dish he had never heard of and did not know the contents of, which turned out to be some kind of ginger-glazed salmon with white rice. Thieving rubbed his hands together at the approach of his teriyaki chicken, and C.C. stared morosely down at her bowl of noodles. Already Zealous was ripping open a package of chopsticks and digging in. A corner of his eye was reserved for wondering why C.C. wasn't eating. But then she snagged a waiter on the way by and requested a fork and other western cutlery.

Thieving grinned. Though not of Asian descent, they both were proficient in the use of chopsticks, having lived in China for a long time. Thieving leaned forwards and said, "You know, it would only take a minute to learn to use 'em." He held up his own hand and clicked the ends of the sticks together in demonstration.

"I can use them," C.C. said coolly, "but I find them inconvenient."

Thieving shrugged and returned to his meal. They ate for a while longer, until Zealous, who always ate quickly, finished the last of the rice on his plate and took a sip of water. "So what kind of job are you willing to pay this much for?" He raised an eyebrow at the girl.

She chewed, swallowed, and dabbed at her lips with a napkin, then cleared her throat. Zealous stared expectantly. She said, "I'd rather talk after dinner."

So Zealous sat back and waited for the others to finish eating, taking ponderous sips of ice-water and allowing his imagination to run wild. He had just come to the conclusion that none of what was happening really made any sense, when C.C. put her napkin on the table and asked a passing waiter for the check. After Thieving had confirmed, in glee, that she would be paying for their dinner, they all rose from their low seating arrangement, paid, and left.

"We'll use my room, if you don't mind," said C.C. as they mounted the twisting marble staircase to the elevators. Thieving's lecherous grin returned. He was the only one among them who had actually partaken of the champagne, and he had managed to down a fair bit of it. Zealous might have been worried, but Thieving was excellent at holding liquor. Until a certain point, that is, at which he became literally dangerous to be close to. But this was not that point.

C.C. opened the door of her room and they filed inside. Zealous realized, as he often did when entering women's hotel rooms, that he and Thieving were pigs: there was no clothing strewn about the floor in C.C.'s room. Things were hung on coat-hangers, in the closet and such. The beds were still made. The girl went straight through the room, cast open the sliding doors , and stepped onto the balcony. Zealous and Thieving followed, Thieving already holding an unlit cigar that he must have been carrying in his pocket. She leaned back against the railing of the balcony, her hair trailing over the side, while they came to stand one on either side of her. Zealous stood with crossed arms while Thieving lit the end of his cigar and puffed on it.

C.C. very coolly turned to Thieving and said, "Please put that out."

On apparent reflex, Thieving tossed the freshly-lit cigar over the railing. It fell like a spark through the night. Then, as if suddenly realizing the magnitude of the loss, he stared down after it for a moment of mournful, reflective silence.

"Well," said C.C. as she looked straight ahead and crossed her arms. "I suppose there's no need to be overly mysterious about this. I have hired you both to help me abduct Empress Nunally."

Zealous' eyes widened and he stared. Then he looked at Thieving to gauge his friend's reaction.

Face bearing an expression of feverish contemplation, Thieving instinctively reached into his pocket and drew out another cigar, not seeing the girl's pointed yellow stare. Only when he had got the cigar between his teeth did he suddenly remember himself, snatch it out again, and snort in amazement.

"The Empress of Britannia," he mumbled, as though to himself.

Trying to ignore the fact that this was all very much crazy, Zealous said, "Now _would_ be the time. She's vulnerable--"

Thieving's eyes burned light blue in the glow from the room. "Where is she located?"

"Aries palace in Britannia,' said C.C. immediately, turning to him.

"And what kind of protection does she have?" continued Thieving. He put the cigar back in his mouth, not bothering to light it, and his arms fell to his sides as though the mere presence of it were to be savoured.

"At last check, a squadron of Vincents on the palace grounds, as well as the security measures."

"Such as?"

C.C. shrugged insouciantly. "Perhaps a fifty-man security detail. Motion detectors, pressure sensors, ID scanners, IR cameras, X-rays, auto-track turrets. That kind of thing."

"Twenty million in Britannian dollars?"

"Twenty million," the girl responded flatly.

Zealous scratched his chin, deeply in thought. "And… why do you want to kidnap her? She's practically a figurehead, now--"

The girl interrupted. "You may consider it part of your fee to refrain from asking questions."

Zealous grinned down at her. "I _see_." Then he laughed. "So! Twelve Vincents. And at least two military bases within a kilometer of Aries."

"One of which was destroyed by the FLEIJA device," C.C. noted.

Zealous scoffed in amusement, then frowned. "So what kind of a team do you have, besides us? Enough to match those twelve Vincents?"

C.C. shook her head, setting the green waterfall of hair swaying back and forth. "No one else right now. Surely you know other such people as yourself, looking for work such as this."

Zealous looked to Thieving, who waved his hand dismissively and turned around to put his hands on the railing, staring far out over the darkening city. Zealous turned back to C.C. and answered for them, explaining: "We don't have a lot of allies anymore. Besides-- well, we can make a few calls, but the fact is that no one will take this job."

C.C.'s pale brow creased in a frown. "Why not? For this much money-"

"That's not the problem," Zealous waved a hand as he interrupted. "Money's useless to a dead man. No one will take the job because it's impossible. In fact it would probably be more profitable to sell you out to the Brits than actually try the job. Let me explain a little better: over the last few years Knightmare development basically exploded. It's been exponential, and private contractors don't have the means to stay competitive against Britannian Knightmares. _One_ Vincent would be too much, probably for as many mercs as you could hire. I hate to admit that at a certain level, skill no longer factors into it. The Vincent is an Eighth Generation Knightmare Frame, late model--"

Thieving interrupted, "Remind me which one the Vincent is?"

"The mass production model of the Lancelot," said Zealous as he turned sidelong to him, "Anyway, those late-model Britannian Frames just aren't for sale. No one has them but the Britannians. I mean, some of the newer mecha out of Asia can match them--Shen-Hu, or that red monster with the Black Knights--but _those_ aren't for sale either."

Thieving perked up, "The Shen-Hu, eh? Maybe we could--"

But Zealous laughed and raised a hand to stop him. "Don't even think it. Money can't buy the kind of soldiers with the kind of equipment to storm Aries. My Knightmare is just a customized Sutherland. Technically Fifth Generation."

"A _highly_ customized Sutherland,' Thieving interjected, clasping his chin in a hand. "I could send an email to Rana and he'll get you a new catalogue. Maybe we could upgrade the floats again, get a shield and some of those energy weapons that just hit the market…"

"Hadron," Zealous shook his head. "No, the reactor can't handle that kind of power. The energy systems are practically overloaded as it is." He turned to C.C. and raised his eyebrows. "Look, if you _really_ want to do this, it might be possible. But we need at least another member. Thieving isn't a great Knightmare pilot and I can't take a squadron alone, even as part of a diversion. We need probably five more Knightmares at the very least. Or one or two _very_ high-end ones with _very_ good operators. But you won't find any mercenaries like that."

Suddenly C.C. bit her lip and looked reluctantly down at the floor of the balcony. "Well, as a last resort…" she said glumly, "I _do_ know someone like that."

* * *


	6. Trevain

Baron Urien Trevain adjusted his uniform, cleared his throat, and pushed open the wood-paneled door. The room inside was as elegant as he had expected. His eyes followed the gilded red carpet at his feet, to the massive desk which was centrally featured. Upon the desk were numerous ornate items: a world globe from perhaps ten years ago, with the Areas all still numbered as they had been before Lelouch's betrayal. Also upon the desk was a quaint analog clock, it's brass workings exposed inside a small glass dome. The face showed the time to be 2:15 pm.

A book was rested on the desk, held open by a pair of large hands which belonged to a large man who sat behind, in a high-backed, beige leather chair. At Baron Trevain's entrance the large man raised his electric blue eyes from the book and stared for a moment in evaluation. His hair was short cropped and black, and he was clean shaven. He was the Grand Duke Frederick Weinberg, and he was soon to be the most powerful man in the Empire.

Weinberg raised his thick eyebrows at Trevain, and stood, extending a hand across the desk. "Urien," he grunted familiarly. Trevain put his smaller hand in Weinberg's and allowed it to be gruffly and firmly shaken. "Sit down," Weinberg indicated a wheeled chair before the desk, then descended again into his own seat.

"Brandy?" said Weinberg as he took a large golden bottle of the stuff from a desk drawer.

"No, thank you, My Lord," Trevain raised a hand politely.

Weinberg nodded, poured himself a large glass, and set the bottle on the tabletop in preparation for other large glasses. "So," he said, and extended a hand at Trevain to indicate that he should give his report now.

Trevain said, without preamble, "Margrave Jeremiah has been imprisoned at the Astolat facility, as per your instructions. His interrogation was, as I understand it…" Trevain shrugged, "unsatisfactory."

Weinberg blinked at him. "In what way so?"

"We were unsuccessful in extracting a confession of culpability in Lelouch's murder from him. It is possible that Kururugi acted alone. We know nothing more now than we did before their arrests."

Weinberg frowned. "Even after placing them together?"

"They've said nothing of interest to each other, My Lord."

The Grand Duke tossed off the remainder of his brandy with a flourish, then poured another. "Do not forget, Urien," he said pointedly, raising a finger. "That Margrave Jeremiah _knew_ who Zero was. He _is_ involved with Kururugi in some way."

"Yes, My Lord," Trevain briefly lowered his head in deference.

"Something here makes no sense," Weinberg sat back, the glass of brandy enfolded by his hand. "I have smelled it from the beginning. They overthrew Lelouch, yes, that is undeniable. They used Schniezel's geass-control to rule Britannia, _yes_. But for what reason? Jeremiah kept his original rank and retired from political life. Kururugi lived not as himself but as Zero. Neither of them benefited from the coup in any measurable way. Where is the _motive_?"

Trevain sat in contemplation for a moment, then said, plaintively, "Altruism?"

"Maybe," Weinberg admitted. "Understandable maybe in Kururugi. I know nothing about Jeremiah other than that he was…" the Grand Duke grimaced, "experimented on."

"I don't understand the secrecy," Trevain leaned forward with a frown. "Why was it necessary for Kururugi to be thought dead? For him to secretly command Schniezel? If Lelouch was the problem why not merely assassinate him and leave it at that?"

"No, no," Weinberg waved a hand tolerantly. "Kururugi had to be dead so that no one would suspect Zero was a former confidant of Lelouch's. And he had to command Schniezel because it was not merely their goal to kill Lelouch." He set his glass down grimly. "It was their goal to control the Britannian Empire. This is why they went along with Lelouch, I suppose. His initial steps, in abolishing the nobility and the occupation of the Areas, these were in line with what they wanted. But the 99th Emperor was power-mad. They had to be rid of him."

"I see," Trevain nodded.

"But they've crippled us," Weinberg glowered down at his drink. "They along with their pet Empress. We're weakening. Our economy is failing. Which is, actually, why I've asked you here, Urien. Above all the other members of the House of Lords I trust you. You have been most helpful to my movement. I have many allies, each with their own assets. Some are ruthless, some powerful. Some are wealthy, and some politically acute. Some are merely excellent actors. But _you_, out of all of them, _you_ alone have a deep analytical understanding. To reason these things through, you see."

"I thank you for your praise, My Lord," Trevain said carefully.

"We have a problem or ten, Baron," said Weinberg glumly to his drink.

He said nothing further for a long moment. He drank the rest of his drink, then poured another. It was apparent that he was feeling the affects of the brandy. Trevain watched him uncomfortably for a while. Then, in order to break the silence, Trevain said, "By the way, My Lord, may I offer congratulations to your son?"

Weinberg glanced up. "Eh? My son?" he said with a scowl.

"I-I had heard he has been appointed the Knight of One."

Weinberg pursed his lips and looked away. Then he snorted scornfully. "Yes. They say he's a fine soldier. They brought me the order and I saw no reason not to sign it." He seemed apprehensive. "If he wants to be a knight he can do it and be disowned for all I care."

Trevain knew better than to say anything more about the matter. "Well then, My Lord. Business-"

"Business!" Weinberg interrupted and raised his glass. "Yes. Let me tell you our _real_ problem, Urien. Listen, they are all going on about how it's unconscionable, it's a travesty, the Areas have no idea how to rule themselves. Things of that nature. There is a general fear that the EU or the Chinese Federation will attack now that we are weakened. But that is a small part of the problem."

Weinberg lurched to his feet and paced over to his world globe. Almost absently, his hand came down upon it as he continued to talk. "Listen. The media haven't quite picked it up yet, but we are headed into the worst recession yet. The main problem is commerce! Is _industry!_" He spun the globe about, stopped it again. "Under Kururugi and Nunnally, our worldwide concerns have been _utterly_ uprooted. Our transnationals are cut off. Many corporations have gone bankrupt practically overnight. Do you realize-_none_ of our industry is actually based in Britannia! We manufactured plastics in Area Nine. We got our metals from Area Five and Area Seven. Our chemical plants are all in Area Three, Ten, and Eight. Mining _sakuradite_ from damned Area Eleven. And I haven't even mentioned the workforce. With their independence, the Areas also (illegally, I might add) have obtained the entirety of our industrial might."

Weinberg shook his head savagely and turned aside. "So! The question that I have been mulling, and the one that I put to you now, is this: where the devil are we going to get labourers from? How are we going to reacquire our overseas businesses that have been stolen? Empress Nunally has us trading with them for everything, and it is killing our economy. That terrorist Kaname, especially, is intolerable. We _need_ sakuradite for our military. Where before we would have simply mined it, now we must _trade_ for it, and Kaname is letting it go at exorbitant prices. And meanwhile _they_ are mining it and building who knows what kind of Knightmares." The Grand Duke scratched feverishly at his jaw line. "So _think_, Urien. Help me think this through."

Baron Trevain sat back in contemplation, his chair creaking. He was a man of narrow frame, with a thin face. His curling brown hair hung back in a pony tail, and his eyes were of a golden brown. When he looked in the mirror he liked to imagine that his eyes were those of a hawk, able to see farther and more clearly than those of anyone else.

Trevain thought, his manicured fingernails tapping the armrest.

Then he said, "To simply retake some of the Areas-"

But Weinberg instantly dismissed the idea, with a swift shake of his head. "That would be political suicide. Many of the Nobles are tired of war. Many still support Empress Nunally's way of doing things. We have control but not _enough_ control to make that move. Besides, the EU and the Federation, and now _Japan_ of all things, are united in their distrust of us. Our military is still perhaps a match for all of them at once, but not for much longer. My advisors tell me that the Eleve-_Japanese_-are certainly taking advantage of their new monopoly on sakuradite. There is no doubt that their friends the Chinese are receiving much freer trade than we are. They are building up forces. It seems inevitable that, eventually, they will attack and that it will be the end of Britannia. But for perhaps a year, until our economic crisis comes to a head, we still have the upper hand militarily."

"But our own people…" Trevain frowned darkly at his fingers where they massaged the leather armrest. "If we moved for war with Japan, we'd be shouted down. Maybe impeached. The problem is to convince them that we _must_ retake the Areas."

"Exactly," Weinberg nodded and again took his seat. Shortly he had refilled his glass and was downing the brandy. He looked to Trevain.

"Bring the media to our side," Trevain advised with his thumb thoughtfully tapping at his lips, chin hunched forward. "Befriend them and let them know which way the wind is blowing. Make it worth their while to help us."

Weinberg smiled. "Those steps are already being taken."

Trevain said, "Divide the competition in the House. Spread rumours about some of Nunally's diehard supporters. Make it impossible for them to trust each other."

Weinberg nodded. "A good plan."

"Generate public opinion," said Trevain. "I mean, My Lord, that we should provide the people with some warning concerning the economic turn. Let it be known that Japan is hoarding sakuradite. Let it be known that our businesses have been illegally seized. Stocks are declining due to the loss of the Areas. Let a sort of panic take the nation and everyone will be itching to take back the Areas. Don't forget," Trevain pointed out, "many of the nobles themselves were financially crippled by Nunally. They are all businessmen, CEOs, equity lords. They are worried that their children won't have a corporate dynasty to inherit. We should feed that fear."

Weinberg was continuing to nod, as he gulped at his brandy. He sighed loudly and clunked the glass down on the table. "Yes, yes. Those are all wise steps. Necessary steps, even. But we must make Britannians _willing_ to risk another war.

"For this," Weinberg sat back with a sad shake of his head. "For this, something drastic must happen."

* * *

Hi everyone,

I gotta apologize for this chapter being short and not featuring any recognizable characters. In order to do this story right I gotta outline some of the political stuff as well. Anyway, here I will solemnly promise that next weekend there'll be another familiar face and greater levels of awesome.

JDCT


	7. Dead Names

The train divided two cities. On the left was the glittering Settlement which basked on the land atop metal plates. On the right was the old city, a wasteland of sagging buildings and crumbling stone, riddled with damage that had never been repaired--where now a great reconstruction was underway.

Zealous could see the innumerable arms of brightly-coloured cranes at work removing rubble in Shinjuku. Far below the train people in helmets crouched in the dirt, looking over maps and schematics, drinking coffee from thermos' in the morning air. Backhoes and massive trucks clambered over the detritus.

"Zealous," said a calm female voice. He turned with his hand grasping the rail above his head, and looked at C.C. through brown sunglasses. It was ten AM and the morning rush had recently completed: the train car was nearly deserted but for the three of them and a couple of others.

"Yo."

The girl was seated with her back to Shinjuku. She had tied her array of green hair up and placed overtop a convincing black wig which fell to the nape of her neck, and was wearing thick-framed glasses. She held up a photograph for him to take, arm rocking with the motion of the train.

Zealous took the photo and spoke around the toothpick he'd saved from their breakfast in Osaka. "This is her?" He looked down at it. The girl in the photo was pleasantly smiling at the camera, wearing a private school had straight, dark red hair and cool blue eyes. Zealous nodded his appreciation, then passed the picture to Thieving who stood just behind him.

Thieving grinned down at the girl in the picture. "This has gotta be the best job we ever took."

Zealous raised an eyebrow. "Are you forgetting the part where we go off to Britannia and get killed?"

Thieving did not answer but continued to grin, "What's her name?"

"Kouzuki," said Zealous thoughtfully, "Um. Karen."

"Kallen," corrected C.C. without looking up at them. Her pale hands were clasped in her lap, on the fabric of her white summer dress.

"Right," Zealous glanced at her. "She's just a student? Is she really a Knightmare pilot?"

"A reservist for the Japanese armed forces," C.C. nodded.

Zealous shrugged, then turned to Thieving. Thieving had taken a credit card from his wallet and was placing it flat against the photo, staring intently. "Fire in her eyes…" he mumbled as though to himself, then held out the photo and card to Zealous, who took them.

"You remember which side is which?" asked Thieving, and Zealous nodded absently in response.

He placed the card flat against the girl's face, vertically dividing her down the bridge of her nose, so that only her right half was visible. She appeared cheerful and attractive. Then Zealous switched the card over, viewed her left side. There was a sinister curve of her lips, like a snarl, and an intensity in her burning blue eye.

"Whoa," said Zealous as he withdrew his head a notch. He turned to Thieving, but the other man was looking aside with his eyes lost behind his shades, in solemn consideration to himself. Zealous handed the photo back to C.C. and the card back to Thieving.

"So what's the plan, then?" asked Zealous as the train swooped into a slow left turn. Past the shuddering window, the smooth titanic FLEIJA crater was just coming into view to the north.

"She goes to Ashford Private Academy, in her senior year. Today the school is putting on their annual festival, so they'll be open to the public."

"Right," Zealous straightened and crossed to the other side of the train, and put a knee on the bench so he could look far down. A middle-aged woman had been reading a book, and now shifted aside to make room, sending an irritated glance up at him. He stared down at the FLEIJA bowl. Ashford Academy was prestigious and had been all over the news a couple of times, but he couldn't remember specifically for what. The Academy grounds, he remembered, were right on the borders of the crater.

"They should fill it with water and make a lake," Zealous muttered with a glance at the older woman beside him, who, he noted, was Japanese.

"What, you mean the crater?" she said with a frown at him.

He turned and smiled at her. "Sure. It's not good for much else. I bet the students would love it. Beaches, maybe a sailing club…"

The Japanese woman half-turned to the window at her back. "Well, it's kind of sacred ground. The government hasn't decided what to do with it yet…"

"Maybe I'll write 'em a letter," said Zealous with a grin, as he withdrew his knee from the seat and wandered back to Thieving and C.C. with his hands in his pockets. Thieving had taken a seat next to C.C. and was lewdly sending a glance her way every now and then.

Zealous leaned against the side of the train and said to C.C., "So, you know this girl?"

"Yes."

Thieving glanced over cursorily. "So, the plan is for you to talk with her, or what?"

"No. You two will have to do it. I can't be recognized. I'm not sure what they'd do." She shrugged, vaguely apologetic.

Zealous sent Thieving a sceptical look and they shrugged at each other. Then Thieving continued, scowling: "So, why are you even coming, then?"

"There's something else that I must do there." She said blankly. In the short time that they'd travelled together, Zealous had never once seen her smile, nor did she seem engaged in whatever conversations they were having. She barely even looked at them when she spoke. She seemed uninterested in establishing any kind of friendliness with them. Zealous considered himself fluent in the nuances of the female kind, but this particular one was continuing to elude his apprehension. While Zealous was calculated and deliberate, Thieving had never bothered to try to understand women. His methods were to-the-point and usually possessing a certain carelessness. It was likely that Thieving would make some kind of move on her; Zealous decided to let him. The strange girl seemed like more trouble than she was worth.

They disembarked the train and made their way to a pretty splendid hotel only several blocks from Ashford Academy. They unpacked their meagre belongings into a private suite with two bedrooms, which C.C. paid for from her seemingly limitless supply of cash. After that Thieving crossed the carpeted floor and commenced having a hot shower, and C.C. shut herself in her room.

Zealous changed clothes, then inspected the luxury he had found himself in. The west side of the room was covered almost entirely by windows. There was a massive table in the middle of what he could only describe as a dining room, with a bowl of fruit already arranged. Zealous snatched up a particularly succulent looking pear, then left the room and meandered down the hallway taking large bites. He took an elevator to the ground floor and looked around the lobby for anything of interest; shortly he discovered that the place was, in fact, beautiful but boring. He finished his pear, seeds and all, tossed the stem in a brass trash cylinder, and ascended again to their room.

By that time Thieving had finished with his shower and was strutting about the room wearing only a towel, as was his custom. He seemed to be waiting for C.C. to emerge from her room so he could hit on her. Eventually the Shads both slouched in a white leather couch and made inscrutable conversation while they waited. Soon C.C. came out into the main room wearing a different dress and the same wig/glasses disguise as before, and said, "Are you ready to go?"

Thieving stood, brandishing all sorts of well-tanned musculature. He said, "Just gotta change," and strutted off into the Shads' room.

They waited for him. C.C. made no indication that she would sit. Eventually, to break the silence, Zealous Shad said: "Who's this _they_ who might recognize you?"

"That's not your concern," responded C.C. automatically.

Zealous grinned insouciantly and shrugged. He had not really expected a proper response anyway. He said, pointing an accusing finger, "You're a strange girl."

Now she looked at him, yellow eyes narrowed in a little bit of concern. "What of it?"

"I'm trying to figure out who you are and why you would want to abduct the Empress. Not to mention where you're getting your funds from," Zealous raised his chin at her.

"I already said I didn't want any questions," said C.C., crossing her arms. Her yellow eyes glared out at him under the low black bangs of her wig.

Zealous nodded reluctantly and cocked his head at her. He stretched his arms out onto the back of the sofa. "Right," he said. Then he looked at her again and said blandly, "You know, you're probably going to get us killed. Had you thought of that?"

She looked down briefly, uncomfortably, then steeled herself and looked him in the eye again. "You didn't have to take the job. Before, in Nagasaki, you said it would be impossible, and that you would be better off to 'sell me out'. But then you agreed to do it. I didn't press the issue because I wanted your help."

Zealous was smiling pleasantly. "Well," he said. "Well, we do enjoy a challenge."

She didn't seem to find this an adequate explanation. She had just opened her mouth to respond when the side door was thrown open and Thieving emerged wearing jeans and doing up the buttons on a short-sleeved shirt, a cigar clenched between his teeth. "Let us peace," he said.

It was a quarter-hour walk to Ashford Private Academy, through the summer heat. Thieving and Zealous strolled in front talking about nothing in particular, Thieving's cigar smoke trailing up behind them. C.C. hung back. Eventually they were moving along a sidewalk next to a line of well-tended fir trees and close cropped grass, with the Ashford grounds just behind a wall at the right. They had joined a small assembly of other people all walking towards Ashford, presumably to take part in the festival, most of whom were Japanese. In front of the Shads, a little girl walked between her parents, one hand held by each; from time to time they would swing her, giggling, up into the air.

"Less than a year ago this was a war zone," Zealous remarked to Thieving, who nodded mutely. Sometimes, in the presence of scenes such as this, Zealous felt a strange unwelcoming sense. He could never put his finger exactly on what this feeling was. Maybe he felt that, in some way, it was not proper for he and Thieving to share a sidewalk with a civilian family. He felt almost a kind of unease.

Soon they followed the river of pedestrians through the main gate and into the courtyard. Zealous saw that many attractions had been set up: there were pavilions here and there providing shade and a place to sit. Stalls had been arranged next to each other in rows, games of skill in which one could win stuffed animals, food vendors with both Britannian and traditional Japanese snacks. Somewhere, music was being played by a live band, and Zealous could hear the blare of a loudspeaker, though he couldn't make out the words.

The three of them browsed for a little while, taking in the sights, and then sat together on a bench to discuss things, C.C. perched in the middle with the Shads sprawling on either side with their shades. Zealous spoke: "So, shall we split up and look for her? Or all go together?"

C.C. leaned back in apparent boredom. "I already told you, I can't let my presence become known. You two will have to look."

Thieving raised an eyebrow and took his cigar from his mouth. "What should we say when we find her?"

C.C.'s shoulders slumped very slightly. Zealous was beginning to get an idea of her body language. She said, "I don't know exactly. I already said this was as a last resort. Just tell her that you want her help… to abduct the Empress. Tell her the truth. If she reacts badly, mention that _I_ sent you. But _don't_ tell her that I'm here at the festival."

Zealous crossed his arms, puzzled. "You're not making this easy. What if she tries to turn us in?"

"If you mention me, she shouldn't," said C.C.

Thieving glared with his mouth slightly agape. "So why did you come, again?"

C.C. turned to him, vaguely exasperated. "I have something unrelated to do, I already told you."

"And this thing is?" Zealous prompted her.

The girl turned first to him, then to Thieving, then heaved an exasperated sigh. "Oh, all right. It can't hurt to tell you. Every year at this festival, they bake 'the world's largest pizza'."

Thieving's eyes widened and his cigar nearly fell from between his fingers. "They _what_?"

"The world's largest pizza," C.C. repeated. "But two years in a row there were… problems… and the pizza failed to be completed. This time--"

"Hell yes," Thieving interrupted her with a hiss of glee.

Zealous stared sombrely at them. "You're kidding."

"No. Two years running the pizza was destroyed. Now, hopefully, I will be able to have some," C.C. still wore her usual blank expression. She glanced at Zealous, "I leave Kouzuki to the pair of you."

Then she stood, nodded to each of them, and faded off through the crowds. Thieving, in a reverie, gazed at Zealous for a little while, then leapt up and turned to follow her.

Zealous said, "Where are you going?"

Thieving said over his shoulder, "To find the world's largest pizza. Where else?"

He left and Zealous was alone. For a moment he just sat with his mouth slightly open and his eyebrows lowered grimly. Then he sighed and sat back, feeling pained. After a long moment spent in this exasperated manner, he rose, scratched his head, and went off in search of the girl Kallen.

Meanwhile, Thieving Shad had caught up with C.C. and was pushing through the crowd after her, sometimes roughly. She noted his pursuit and turned to him. "You're not looking for Kouzuki," she informed Thieving.

"Pizza comes first," responded Thieving with a grin. C.C. raised her eyebrows but seemed unable to find any argument against this. Finally they broke through the crowd and stood before a massive steel pan that had been set on wooden struts on the grass to one side of the school's front steps.

"They haven't started yet," C.C. said with some dejection.

Thieving looked around and saw a strange purple and yellow Knightmare Frame up on the concourse on their right, standing guard near the steps. Looked like it had an open cockpit, and the school crest was emblazoned on its torso. Thieving snorted in amusement, and said, "That's an MR-1. A real old frame."

"It's for tossing the pizza," C.C. explained. "They used to use a Ganymede."

"Even older. Classic, even," he nodded. "Those probably go for a fortune these days. Not too many left."

C.C. didn't say anything for a while. She stared down at the gigantic pan as though expecting a pizza at any moment to pop into existence upon it. Finally she turned to Thieving and said, "By the way, what were you and Zealous doing with the photo and the credit card, on the train?"

"Hmm," said Thieving. "Well, have you ever heard the theory that each half of the brain serves a different function?"

"Of course."

"They also say that each half of our face is controlled by a different half of the brain. So really our expressions always comprise two different expressions at once."

"I see," she was nodding, "I've also heard that, actually."

"Well," Thieving scratched his chin. "We knew someone who took the theory a step further. Freud said that every human has a persona and a shadow--"

"You mean Jung. Carl Jung," C.C. corrected impatiently. "The persona is a mask we put on for the outside world, and the shadow is--"

"What we hide," Thieving interrupted in retaliation, with a smug look. "Yeah, exactly. We knew this guy who said that the right side of the face showed our persona, and the left side was the shadow."

C.C. stood in solemn contemplation for a short while. Then she said, "So if I looked at the left side of your face, would I see a 'Thieving Shadow'?"

He laughed, then, "You're pretty sharp." But he shook his head. "Only half of him." He did not elaborate further.

As this conversation had been taking place, Zealous was wandering about the festival grounds pretending to be interested in one thing after another, while actually on the lookout for Kouzuki. He had just bought some takoyaki and was leaned against one of the ornate pillars lining the front walkway, when suddenly he saw an interesting exhibition. Chewing on the octopus, he made his way over to a raised section covered in mats, and surrounded with spectators. Up on the mats, two people were engaged in a sword-fight. They each wore elaborate costumes, including a round mesh face-mask and pads covering their shoulders, chest, and thighs. They circled about with wooden swords, stepping forward now and then to engage in a flurry of blows. Sometimes one of them would score a hit and a referee would blow his whistle, then step forward to separate the combatants. Zealous had never in person seen this particular style of swordsmanship before, but he recognized it, from descriptions he had read, as kendo. The art of the samurai.

He crossed his arms and watched for a little while. He'd been a swordsman himself once. He'd done a little bit of fencing in his youth, as had many Britannian children. In China he had picked up a little bit of training with the Dao and tai-chi sword, but he'd never gotten very good at either. Here and there in his reading he had found references to Japanese swordsmanship and the sword which was central to the practise, the katana. In China he'd come across writings which described the samurai and their fighting style; to actually see it, though, was impressive. The style actually reminded him of European fencing; something about the stance seemed to employ the same principles. To wait for the opportune moment and then strike.

Suddenly, across the kendo platform, he saw a flash of dark red hair. He surreptitiously craned his neck, no longer watching the fight. It was Kouzuki, on the other side of the platform, walking away in the company of a kid with blue hair. Reluctantly, Zealous disengaged from the crowd surrounding the fight and moved off in the general direction he'd seen Kouzuki in. Soon he caught another glimpse of her hair, facing away from him. She and the kid had stopped walking.

Zealous casually pushed through the crowd until he was at a hot dog stand, pretending to examine the menu. Kallen and her companion were off to his right some ways. He could hear what they were saying.

The blue-haired boy said, "So, you'll be ready?"

"Of course," Kallen responded with something like impatience.

"I'm gonna say, 'Presenting! Our illustrious pizza chef--"

She interrupted him, "I heard you the first three times."

"Then you--"

"I know," she said in exasperation.

"Okay," said the boy. "Okay, it's just, we messed up the last two years and I kind of want to see this work out for once. Wish everybody could be here to see it…"

Kallen said nothing. Zealous didn't risk looking at her to gauge her reaction.

The kid went on. "A-anyway! Milly's gonna be here, I think. She texted me and said they were gonna cover the PM's speech."

"Great," said Kallen. "Maybe you two can get some alone time finally."

"H-hey! It's not like that."

"There's gonna be a dance, don't forget," Kallen teased him.

"She's probably gonna be reporting the whole time," the kid said. Zealous could hear his embarrassment. "Anyway. I'll see you after the speech first thing and we'll get ready."

"Sure," said Kallen. "I'm starved. You want some sushi?"

"Nah," the boy grinned audibly. "I'm savin' myself for pizza."

Zealous looked around. Just to the left of the hot dog stand was a sushi vendor. It was likely that this was where Kallen planned to eat. There was no line up at the moment, so Zealous shifted over one stall and continued his act, this time pretending to look at the sushi menu. He waited a long moment, then heard the scrape of footsteps behind him. He didn't move, standing perfectly still with his hand clasped around his chin.

"Excuse me?" he heard Kallen's voice behind him. "Are you in line?"

He turned around as if he were startled. "Um. I don't know. You're getting something?"

She didn't look quite as she had in the photo. The blue eyes were the same, and her face was just as pretty as he'd expected. Her hair, though, wasn't as immaculately combed as it'd been in the picture, instead flowing messily down from a haphazard part on top.

"Yeah," she said with half a smirk. "Better decide quick or I'm gonna take your place."

"Well, uh," he said, with a glance up at the menu. "I was going to try some, but I've never had Japanese food before," he lied, "What are you getting?"

"Tekkamaki," she pointed up at the menu. "Raw tuna. It's good."

Zealous shrugged at her. "If you say so." He turned to the aging Japanese man in the stall. "Two tekkamaki orders, please." He produced his wallet and held out a folded Britannian bill for the man to take.

"You don't have to pay for mine," Kallen protested.

He turned to scowl at her. "Who said I was paying for yours?"

"Uh," she looked momentarily surprised. The blue eyes widened. "You just--"

"_Ordered_ for you, sure," he shrugged. "I'm not rich enough to buy raw tuna for every pretty girl I meet."

Kallen was blushing ever so slightly. Zealous resisted the urge to laugh. Instead he grinned. "Just kidding."

That raised her eyebrows. "About what?"

"About not paying." He turned, received his sushi from the man, and handed Kallen her own. "My thanks for helping me choose," he made a short, theatrical bow, then turned so he could refuse the change the guy in the stall was trying to offer him.

A moment later they were seated on the marble stairs, eating and looking out over the bustling festival. Kallen swallowed her roll and said, "So, you're one of the Britannians who stayed behind?"

"No," Zealous shook his head. "I don't live here, I'm visiting a friend."

"Oh," she said politely. Then she said, "By the way, I'm Kallen Kouzuki."

He turned, saw that she was offering a hand. He took it and shook it gently. "Zealous Shadow."

She snorted into her sushi box, then looked at him in amusement. "What kind of name is that?"

He shrugged. "It's what they call me."

"Right. Doesn't sound like a real name to me," she told him with a shake of her head.

"I'm the only Zealous Shad. It means more than my 'real' name ever did."

She laughed at him. "So you changed your name? Your parents must have given you a pretty crappy name."

He smiled and swallowed the last of his tuna roll. "Maybe." Then he slouched far back on the steps. He turned to cock his head at her. "Zealous Shadow _is_ a real name, though. Not normal maybe, but _real_, yes."

"Uh-huh?" she smirked. "How so?"

"When you call me Zealous Shadow, I answer," said Zealous simply. He yawned. "Anyway, I know I guy in Shanghai who just calls me Zee. You can stick with that if you want."

"Um," she sounded hesitant. "Zealous is okay." Then she glanced up at the festival below them.

The crowds seemed to be organizing themselves, filtering past the stalls and pavilions towards a grassy patch on the left side of the yard. A few remained behind, but most seemed to be thronging to see something. Up on a stage, people were moving about, most notably a couple of guys in suits. The old Japanese flag, the red sun on a white background, was flying above the stage.

"Oh," said Kallen suddenly. "Ohgi's about to make his speech! C'mon." She shoved the last of her tekkamaki into her cheeks and stood up, brushing off her skirt. Zealous followed her as she hurried down the steps. As he did so, he was formulating inferences. _Ohgi_, she'd called the Prime Minister, his first name. And she was a Knightmare pilot, according to C.C.

In a sort of intuitive way, he reasoned things through. She was on a first name basis with Ohgi Kaname, former second-in-command of the Black Knights. Also she was a Knightmare pilot, and a good one if C.C. could be believed. Therefore, Kallen had to be with the Black Knights. Things were beginning to make sense.

But who was C.C.?

He resolved to figure it all out later. For now, he followed Kallen deeper into the crowd as Prime Minister Kaname took the podium to make his speech. The crowd quieted down as he nervously cleared his throat. He was of medium build, with curling dark hair.

"Thank you," said Kaname, almost sheepishly. "Um. I don't have too much to say here today, other than to congratulate you all, on, uh… this accomplishment." He wasn't much for public speaking, Zealous figured. "This is… why we fought so hard. For the kind of harmony and understanding that I see here, today, as I look out at you all." He took a deep breath, his voice gathering strength. "Looking out I see the faces of Britannians and of Japanese, together and as one, coming here merely to celebrate. We stand at the beginning of an era of peace. We've done it. We've done what we fought for and died for…

"Since we're here, at this school in particular, I thought it might be fitting if I honoured the sacrifices of those who were once enrolled here at Ashford Academy."

Zealous watched Kallen as she crossed her arms apprehensively.

Kaname went on. "Many students of Ashford Academy lost or gave their lives in the struggle against tyranny. Students like…" he said, and began to name them.

Zealous listened to the names of the dead.

He was familiar with dead names. They were just like the names of the living, except that there was no one to answer when they were called.

"Shirley Fenette," said Kaname, and Kallen looked down at her feet.

"Rollo Lamperouge."

He paused, then said, "Suzaku Kururugi." A slight murmuring went up.

He took a much longer pause, before saying, "Lelouch vi Britannia."

Zealous glanced suddenly up in surprise. The murmuring grew practically to an uproar. Kallen was still looking at her feet with her arms crossed.

After the Prime Minister's speech had finished, Zealous commented to her, "I didn't know Emperor Lelouch went to school here."

She didn't seem very talkative. She only nodded at him, as they meandered back in the direction of the stairs.

Zealous looked carefully at her. "Did you know him?"

Her eyes widened and she glared at him in sudden fury. Then her expression softened. "Yeah. Well, I guess I knew him." She scratched her cheek. "His sister Nunally went here too."

Zealous carefully did not react.

"Huh," he said calmly. Inwardly, though, his thoughts swirled about him. Kallen _knew_ Empress Nunally? Why would she ever want to kidnap the girl? None of this was making any sense. C.C. was either a fool or knew many things about this that Zealous did not.

Probably the latter. In either case, now was probably as good a time as any to talk to Kallen about the mission.

"Hey," he said, "do you mind if we talk somewhere private?"

"What?" she looked at him strangely. Then, suddenly, an expression of panic appeared on her face. "Oh _no_. Rivalz is gonna kill me. Sorry, I gotta go. I'm making the pizza."

She turned and ran off, dodging around the people in the crowd as she fought her way up towards the Knightmare which was sitting at the top of the stairs. Zealous perplexedly watched her go, his mind turned inwards. He ignored the commotion that presently arose, as the blue haired kid, presumably Rivals, appeared with a chef's hat and a microphone and began to make insightful pizza-related comments. Zealous also ignored the cheering and whatnot as Kallen appeared atop the purple and orange MR-1 and began to expertly toss the largest mass of pizza dough he'd ever seen.

Zealous stood frowning to himself with the noise of the crowd unnoticed around him. Thieving had always been able to cope better than he with the strange and sometimes ridiculous circumstances of their work. Thieving would, upon hearing the concerns that Zealous had for the operation, probably shrug them off. Thieving didn't tend to worry about the little things, like what the hell was going on. But Zealous had always been preoccupied with thinking; people sometimes told him he thought _too_ much. And whenever they told him that, he would think long and hard about whether or not they were right.

Kallen knew Empress Nunally. That was all she'd said. It didn't mean she _liked_ Nunally. Maybe she would be open to the idea of kidnapping her. Yet then again there was something illogical in the idea of abducting her in the first place. She was in a coma, and really was more of a figurehead in any case. Nunally was already out of the picture, perhaps permanently if the media could be believed. She served no political value.

Except perhaps as a hostage. Perhaps the hope was that Schniezel and Cornelia would be willing to pay a large ransom for their little sister. Yet surely, such a ransom would be barely worth the effort, considering the cost in man and machine power that C.C. was already spending on the mission.

By the time Zealous forced himself up and out of his thoughts, Kallen had spread what looked like a freight-car full of tomato sauce over the dough, and now was dumping mountains of cheese overtop, while the gathered looked on in awe.

"Half cheese pizza! Half pepperoni!" Rivals was hollering into his mic.

In accordance with this proclamation, Kallen began scattering clouds of pepperoni over one-half of the pizza.

"And now the oregano!" shouted Rivals, and Kallen's MR-1 flung green plumes of the stuff out over the pizza.

"Into the oven!" said Rivals.

The Knightmare clamped its hands under the edge of the pizza pan and slid it carefully into a twelve meter oven, from the top of which emerged smoke. Pretty soon a fantastic smell of baked cheese began to emerge.

"Only fifteen minutes, my friends!" Rivals announced. "Fifteen minutes until our pizza dream is fulfilled!"

Everything seemed to go according to plan. By this time it was the late afternoon, nearly four. A legion of servers clustered around the pizza, slicing off rectangular pieces and depositing them on the paper-plates of people who filed by in a massive line up. Many went back for seconds or thirds. Zealous, still pondering, got himself a small slice and retired to a nearby picnic table.

Shortly he was joined by C.C. with a larger piece than his own, which she cradled reverently, and Louis who had somehow obtained a plastic tray which was bending under the weight of his own dinner.

C.C. sat down and daintily began applying knife and fork to her pizza. She looked up at Zealous: "What did Kallen say?"

"I didn't get a chance to tell her about the mission." Zealous chewed.

Thieving exclaimed something, but there was so much pizza in his mouth that neither of the others could understand him. C.C. blinked at Zealous. "Sooner would be better than later," she wiped her mouth with a paper napkin.

Zealous nodded, then clapped a hand on Thieving's shoulder and stood. "Come on, you too this time."

Thieving glared up with ferocity and garbled another exclamation which sounded like, "Pizza!"

Zealous motioned with his hands. "Eat fast, then."

He did, and then the pair of them left C.C. alone, Thieving still chewing and swallowing. "You know," said Zealous as they wandered through the crowds. "Empress Nunnally went to school here."

"Mm-hmm," Thieving swallowed a last gigantic mouthful and exhaled in satisfaction. "Yeah, I figured as much when Kaname mentioned Emperor Lelouch among the dead. C.C. was saying it shows real character for him to acknowledge Lelouch like that."

"Kallen knew Lelouch and Nunnally," Zealous went on.

"That so?" Thieving laughed. "Well, this should be an interesting conversation then."

They eventually found Kallen amidst a gaggle of other female students her age, who were all congratulating her on her pizza-slinging technique and praising the final product. Thieving hung back while Zealous approached, waved at her, and said: "You mind if my friend and I talk to you, alone?"

She looked sceptically at him, then cocked her head to one side so she could see Thieving where he was crossing his arms behind Zealous. There was an immediate chorus of whispering and giggling from the girls who were accompanying Kallen; a dark look crossed her face to hear it. Then she swept her fork across her plate and pushed the last of her pizza into her mouth, then nodded curtly to him and rose.

She muttered something that Zealous couldn't make out, as she fell into step next to he and Thieving. Zealous Shad said, "Chew your food."

She glared at him. "They're such gossips, I was saying."

Zealous shrugged. "Anyway," he held out a hand at Thieving. "My friend, Thieving Shadow."

"You're joking," she said dryly as she leaned around Zealous to peer at Thieving, arms crossed against the evening chill. "What is he, your brother?"

"Sadly, no," Zealous shook his head. "Not by birth. Listen: where can we talk privately about a matter of great importance?"

She stopped walking and looked gravely from Zealous to Thieving and back again. "I don't know who you are. If you're a couple of perverts, or if you _try_ anything, I can kick both your asses. You understand?"

"Don't worry about us," Thieving put in flatly. "We're harmless like little lambs."

Zealous was tempted to chuckle but restrained himself.

"Right," she said sarcastically. Zealous noticed for the first time that her right hand was clenched around a little pink wallet with white trim. "Well, let's go to the roof, then," she said, and led them off without another word.

They followed as she led them through the halls of Ashford Academy, which were wide and elegant. The lights inside were mostly turned off, but lamps from without shone through the large ornate windows which lined the hallways. By the time they had crested a final staircase and emerged out into the light wind and cool air of the roof, a string quartet was playing the waltz far below, and couples were spinning about in the ancient Britannian dance.

Kallen leaned her elbows onto the railing. "Some things don't change," she said with a wan smile down at the dancers.

Zealous arrived beside her. There were a dozen things he could say in response, about things and whether they changed or not. But he remained silent and simply watched her. Thieving arrived, lit a cigar, and puffed on it. The breeze carried the smoke off into the night.

"So," said Kallen. "Who are you guys?" The pink wallet was still clenched in her right hand, Zealous saw.

Zealous responded immediately. "Military consultants." Then he cleared his throat. "Mercenaries, really. We took a job for someone, who then recommended that we contact you for help."

She frowned at him, apparently mulling this over. She said, "When you say, 'mercenaries'…"

Thieving broke in, cigar burning in his hand. "Soldiers for hire, yes. I coordinate things and shoot folks, he pilots the spiffy Knightmare. There's a lot of money in this job, if you want it," he gesticulated at her with the cigar emitting a crooked finger of smoke.

"I'm not for hire," Kallen said curtly, removing her elbows from the railing. She gave Zealous a lingering, bitter look. "You'd better leave now. Mercenaries are illegal in Japan." She began to walk back to the stairwell.

Thieving looked confused. "Are they?" He turned to Zealous.

Zealous said. "C.C. sent us to find you."

Kallen instantly was stopped in her tracks. She turned to fix him with an incredulous blue stare. "_What?_"

"She's the one who hired us," Zealous explained. "She said we needed your help. At least hear us out."

For a long moment Kallen only glowered at him with a kind of awed frown. Then she turned to face them and crossed her arms again. "All right, then. Tell me. What did she hire you for?"

Zealous grimaced to himself. How were they going to explain this?

Thieving waved his cigar again. He said, "We're gonna abduct Empress Nunnally from Aries Palace."

Kallen stared.

Zealous turned a morose glare at his friend. Then he grimly scratched his cheek and waited for Kallen's reaction.

She continued to stare. Then she stammered, "Wha--_what_? Why the _hell_ would I want to do that?"

Zealous shrugged helplessly. "Yeah, we wonder the same thing."

"You'd better have a good explanation for this," Kallen shook a finger at Zealous.

"We don't even have a _bad_ explanation for it," said Zealous. "You have any idea why this girl C.C. would want to kidnap Nunnally?"

"_No_," she said in exasperation, staring down at the floor and seeming to feverishly ponder the matter. "You guys don't know anything and you took the job anyway?"

"Yeah," said Thieving around the cigar which was now in the side of his mouth.

"I don't want anything to do with her," Kallen snarled. "I don't care why she's doing this. I'm going to tell the Prime Minister. Tell her _that_."

Zealous and Thieving looked at each other. "Hmm," said Thieving grimly.

Zealous blinked slowly. He said, cunningly, "You wouldn't betray her. Not after being comrades under Zero."

Inexplicably, Kallen blushed. Then she said harshly. "That hasnothing to do with it. I won't let her kidnap Nunnally. _Whatever_ her reasons."

Zealous' deductions were correct, then. C.C. had _also_ been a member of the Black Knights, formerly, during the days of Zero. And the rumours insisted that Zero had been Lelouch vi Britannia, even if the media said otherwise. Therefore, both C.C. and Kouzuki had served under Lelouch, and it wasn't a stretch to infer that both of them knew Nunnally. So: C.C.'s motive was probably personal, not political, and thus it was meaningless for him to logically try to reason it out. There was probably further information he lacked, some history all relating back to the Black Knights.

For the present, though, Kallen was glaring at him with mounting fury in her eyes. Seemed as though her shadow was taking over. The pink wallet was squeezed in the fingers of her hand. Zealous watched it curiously, wondering.

"All right, then," Zealous said deferentially. "Forget it. We'll find someone else." He watched the pink wallet.

"I don't think so," Kallen shook her head slowly. "I think you're under arrest." She gave the wallet a little jolt and a short blade slid out of it, pointed at them. Instinctively, Zealous turned to make certain Thieving wasn't about to do something rash. But Thieving was enjoying his cigar with a smile aimed down at Kallen's knife.

Zealous turned to her and shrugged. "I guess that's understandable."

Kallen gestured with the knife. "Keep your hands where I can see them."

Thieving raised his hands and smiled, sending forth a cloud of smoke. "Not to worry. I'd never hit a woman."

"Down the stairs," Kallen urged them.

And turned aside for a split second. By the time she turned back, Thieving had closed the distance silently, grabbed her wrist, and spun her around so that her back was against his chest. His arm slid around her neck and tightened while his other hand held her wrist straight out from her body.

Zealous watched. Thieving was constricting her carotid arteries, which tended to induce unconsciousness in ten to fifteen seconds. She made a few strained choking noises and then became motionless. Thieving carried her just inside the stairwell out of the cold and laid her gently on the floor.

They left the school silently and navigated through the crowds which were thinning out as the night grew darker. Eventually, Thieving spoke around the fading stub of his cigar. "Well," he said, "At least I didn't _hit _her."


	8. Dead Eyes

Hey everybody. Had a bunch of school projects to do, so I got a little sidetracked. However, I am still going strong and plan to continue in that way. Here's the latest. The next chapter will be a Jeremiah chapter.

JDCT

* * *

For some reason, she hadn't told anyone yet. Maybe it had to do with the shock of hearing the name 'C.C.' again. With Lelouch dead, some unreasonable part of her had figured that C.C. would be equally as gone. Sometimes the odd girl had seemed like _part _of him, like just another aspect of the Zero costume. A couple of times, yeah, it _had_ crossed her mind that C.C. might show up, but certainly not in this way: certainly not through a couple of jerks who wanted to kidnap _Nunnally _of all things.

It was so colossally stupid that she could not pay attention in Japanese History class, and ended up with her fists balled on her desk, staring angrily out the side window. She'd come _so_ close to running straight to Ohgi and letting him know he had private soldiers running loose in the country. But something about this all was _too_ dumb, was too out of character. There was, as far as she could tell, no reason whatsoever for C.C. to want to kidnap Nunnally. The very idea of it was ridiculous.

Therefore Kallen sat inwardly fulminating in class, running it all over in her mind, trying to remember if those guys had left any clues, _any_ at all in their little chat with her. But no matter how hard she thought, the fact still remained that they were as clueless as she was. Figures that C.C. wouldn't bother to tell her mercs what was going on. Kallen hadn't told anyone about anything yet, maybe because a part of her was still hoping C.C. would find her in person and explain the whole mess.

Of course, if that were to happen she wasn't sure whether to hear her out or to arrest her. C.C. hadn't exactly been an ally, at the end. Nevertheless, if C.C. did show up, Kallen knew that she would wring some answers out of the girl. But if she _didn't_ show up, then maybe Nunnally would be in danger. Kallen had resolved to give C.C. a week, and then tell Ohgi.

It was only the second day of that week, and already it was all she could think about. Not only C.C.'s strange resurgence in her life, but the crude purveyors of her message. One thing was for certain: if she ever met Zealous and Thieving Shadow again, she would cause them tremendous pain.

She stared out the window with her thumb caressing the hidden knife-point in her purse. That _bastard_. It was embarrassing to think of. She'd looked away for only that tiniest amount of time, and Thieving had gone from complacent and grinning to silent speed and steel fingers. She hadn't been manhandled that badly by one guy since Suzaku had thrown her down and disarmed her on Kamine Island. Well, at least this time she hadn't been naked.

All she remembered clearly of it was the press of his arm around her neck, and beyond, Zealous staring in at her through a darkening fog, his expression indifferent and wooden, almost with a kind of boredom. Like he was watching someone being choked on TV, some person he cared nothing about.

Was everyone in the world fake?

She was going to _kill_ them.

With a protracted sigh, Kallen slouched back in her chair. The teacher, an ancient Japanese man who'd spent most of his life in the ghettos of Chiba, was saying something about the Sengoku era. Part of her felt guilty so be so uninterested by all this: after all, she'd fought and killed and lost so much for this kind of thing, to be able to learn Japanese history. Unfortunately, this class was just as boring as any other history class she'd ever taken.

Lately, a sort of depression had taken her. Kind of a bored apathy. It was almost, (dare she say it?) a dissatisfaction with the way things had turned out. They had victory, yeah, finally, and within her own lifetime! But what of it? Kallen had never actually given her future any thought. She'd just sort of figured that, one day, she would die fighting for freedom from Britannia. No-not even that, she'd never really counted on dying in battle. She'd just never really looked ahead to a time when the fighting would be over.

Well, now they had won their freedom. Now she was free to plan a productive life and meet a nice guy and finish her education and… get a good career. She gritted her teeth and rapped her knuckles against the desk. Was _this_ what she'd fought so hard for? To be _bored_ all of the goddamn time? She didn't even really like the people she knew anymore. Didn't have many friends at school. Rivalz was one, of course, but he was just kind of annoying sometimes. Even all the Japanese people who'd started going to school at Ashford, they just pissed her off. They revelled in the Britannian style uniforms and academic culture. Well, to be sure, they were grateful to her, they mentioned that a lot. How they were so glad the Black Knights had fought and liberated them. But really, she still felt like they all just wanted to be Britannians.

Which was all doubtless part of the reason why she kept thinking about C.C., and why her knuckles were itching to administer a beat-down to Thieving Shad. That was really what she was best at. With a rueful sigh, she stared down at the desk. That was it, wasn't it? A part of her wanted them to try again, come back so she could pound them good.

She'd fought for a future. That was what they'd always said. They were all fighting for a better future. But if the future was so much better, why was it that all she could think about was the past? It was true. Sometimes when she was supposed to be doing homework she would just sit in her room staring through the old photos of Lelouch and the others. It felt so wrong, to be reminiscing about those times when people had been dying every day.

"Kallen."

But really, maybe it was because they'd all been her friends. It couldn't be _peace_ that was getting her down. She just had to meet more people around school. Maybe join the new student council.

"Kouzuki Kallen," said the aged voice. Mr. Ide had a habit of calling everyone with their family name first, in old Japanese style. She glanced up, startled. A tittering made its way around the class, but she really didn't have it in her to embarrassed any more.

"Yes, Mister Ide?" she said.

He gesticulated frailly with his textbook closed over his thumb. "In my day, you know, we called the teacher 'sensei'. Anyway, Kallen-chan, I would like you to tell me the names of the five Tairo, the council of five elders, who Hideyoshi chose to rule Japan until his son came of age."

She had read the chapter out of sheer boredom the previous night. Sometimes she wondered what the point of coming to school was. She'd gotten used to learning on her own, during her periods of feigned sickness. Why bother coming in to class if she could learn faster by herself? She slid her chair backwards and lethargically rose to attention. "Ukita Hideie," she said blandly. "Maeda Toshiie, Uesugi Kagekatsu, Mori Terumoto; and, um," she frowned slightly. "Tokugawa Ieyasu."

For some reason she was reminded of Ohgi's speech the other day. That startled her, and for a moment after Ide had smiled and commended her attentiveness, she forgot to take her seat. More giggling from her classmates. Now why had she suddenly thought if that speech? A strange feeling had come over her as she recited the names. Almost nostalgia… maybe that was it. She was remembering how he'd read the names of the dead out loud.

None of those old Japanese lords had any friends left to remember them. They were just dusty old names, now. And that was how only the luckiest of people ended up: it was names in a textbook or nothing, nothing at all left of them. She didn't know anything about Tokugawa Ieyasu or the others. Nobody cared about them.

In a few years Lelouch would be in textbooks like that. They would have sayings about him, he would be reviled. Children would remember him as an evil person but they would never, never understand _why_. And they would never know him. He would cease to be a person any more and become, just that, a name in a textbook. And in a hundred years the name of Kallen Kouzuki would mean nothing to anyone.

For the rest of the class she sat back glumly in her chair, running her thumb over the point of the hidden knife. So maybe that was why the future didn't seem all it was cracked up to be. She hadn't won a future for herself. Just for some other people who she didn't know. All she really knew was fighting. All she'd really counted on was the present moment. The future she and Lelouch and everyone had fought for… it wasn't a future that _they_ themselves would live in. It was for other people, who hadn't fought, who hadn't died. She already felt like those Japanese lords; left behind in an era that no one else could possibly understand.

The day ended uneventfully. She tried to keep her mind off of philosophy, and on her studies. She took the crowded train out of the Tokyo settlement, to the experimental new town they'd just finished building in the north on the ruins of Saitama. This was where she lived in a house with her mother-he _real_ mother. The houses here had all been constructed according to the old Japanese style, had sliding doors, tatami mats, low tables and all that. It had taken a bit to get used to, but now the new house felt reassuring, reminding her that things actually _had_ changed.

Kallen unlocked the door, slid it open, and entered while masking a yawn. She left her school bag in the entrance way, took off her shoes, and went into the living room. Her mother was cross-legged on the floor, watching the news on TV. Kallen went through the brief "Hi, how was your day/Fine/Did anything fun happen/no" routine and then crashed back into the couch and yawned again.

She wasn't really watching the news. No, she was thinking about the past yet again. This was beginning to piss her off. Every time she turned around she was thinking about some dead person and some long gone moment. Right now it was Suzaku, for some reason, and she was thinking way back to the time when they disabled his Lancelot with Gefjun disturbers, and he'd taken Zero-_Lelouch_-hostage.

Kallen could not help but smile grimly. She had leapt from the Guren mk. II and ran towards them, hoping desperately to sway Suzaku because they went to school together. And Lelouch… she tried to imagine his own thoughts, with his old friend holding him at gunpoint. He'd been fighting alone for so long.

"Dear?" Kallen started, and realized her mother was looking at her in concern. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she said automatically.

"You're not sick? Or sad?"

Kallen opened her mouth with some annoyance, in order to insist that nothing was wrong, when suddenly something occurred to her. It was a little bit troubling. She sat up.

"Mom," she said gently. "Actually I have a question."

"Anything," her mother smiled.

"Um," Kallen looked down in embarrassment. "When you used to take refrain…"

Her mother blinked carefully. The lines in her face seemed to become more pronounced. "Yes, dear."

"You did it because it made you feel like you were in the past, right?"

Her mother nodded. "It was a strange feeling. Like swimming through your own memories, but everything felt… good. You didn't remember anything bad, only the good things." Then she said sternly. "But it was fake."

Kallen looked up in surprise.

Her mother continued. "It wasn't real. It made us forget real life and even the _bad_ things that had happened in the past." She cocked her head and frowned slightly. "Kallen, why are you asking me this?"

"Well," Kallen looked sharply down at her knees. She sighed ruefully and scratched in her hair. "Lately I've been thinking about the, um, old times. I just feel… um… Mom, I don't know how to describe it… I'm sorry, this is stupid."

The cushions of the sofa depressed as her mother sat beside her and put an arm over her shoulders, tugging her closer. Kallen felt a warm kiss on top of her head. She blinked slowly, still staring down at her lap.

"I mean…" she said plaintively. "It's what we fought for, right Mom? And… and I know this is going to sound bad, but part of me wishes it was still back then."

Her mother stroked her hair soothingly. She said firmly, "You lost friends." Kallen nodded mutely. Her mother continued; "Everyone feels nostalgia. Thinking about the 'old times' is good. We have to remember where we came from. But we have to make new times, too."

She could hear the gentle smile on her mother's face. "That's what you did for me."

Kallen looked up in amazement. "What?"

"We had no hope anymore," her mother said, "you know. We were just hoping that some miracle or drug could give us our old lives back. But that's not possible. What you did was far better than a dream of our old lives." Her mother whispered, "Now we have _new_ lives," and pulled her close, tightening her arms in a hug. "I'm very proud of you, Kallen," her mother's voice murmured in her ear, warming her and sending a shiver down her back.

Kallen left her mother downstairs and took a long, hot shower. She stood for a long time under the rush of water with her hands against the wall. There she vowed to remember the old times, and to make new ones as well. She finished feeling much better, and dried herself off and went into her room to change. As she went in she purposefully looked at the pictures on the wall and smiled in their direction. But she could still feel the sort of ache inside, despite her mother's words. She could still feel a hard pit of loss. Scoffing, she collapsed naked onto her bed. Soon she had drifted off to a blank place.

A sudden knock woke her. She jerked in surprise and groped for the towel, pulling it over her body. "Yes?"

"Kallen, there's a young man here to see you," her mother's muffled voice said.

"Uh. I'll be down in a minute," she called, and surged upwards. As she got dressed, she wondered… someone from school? Or was it one of the Shads, back again? She snatched up her purse from the bed and went to the stairs, descending rapidly and with a frown affixed on her face. Probably it was nothing, just some guy from school. Or, of course, it was probably Rivalz; he'd actually come over once or twice. But her mother knew Rivalz, and wouldn't have called him a 'young man'.

She rounded a corner and found her mother having tea with the visitor. They were sitting cross legged across from each other at the living room table. The guy looked up at her; an unfamiliar face, some guy about her age she'd never met before. He was slight of build, wearing casual clothing. His features were narrow and there was something about them that seemed odd. His hair was nearly black, lengthy, and straight, gathered back into a ponytail that lay down between his shoulder blades. His eyes met hers and widened ever so slightly, as though in surprise. They were a dim grey, somehow blank.

She scowled at him and crossed her arms. "Who are you?"

He cleared his throat sheepishly. "Um. It's understandable that you don't remember me, I suppose. We never, um, met like this."

Kallen looked briefly at her mother, eyes narrowing suspiciously. But her mother wore her usual content look as she sipped at her tea. "Well," said Kallen. "What do you want?"

"Actually," the narrow face bent into a weak smile. "I need your help with something."

There actually was something familiar about him, though she could not immediately place what it was. Did she know the face? Couldn't remember ever having seen it. Probably he was a student from her class, some pervert who needed her help with some 'homework'.

"Sorry," she said, sounding totally unapologetic. "I don't remember you-Mom, why'd you let this guy in?"

Her mother appeared unconcerned. "He said he was your friend." She smiled gently. "I knew you were missing your friends…"

Kallen grimaced and scratched behind her ear furiously. Leave it to Mom to tell some pervert from school that she was losing her nerve. Or maybe the guy was some associate of C.C.'s, some other merc with a preposterous name. Maybe better to get it out of him and send him packing in haste. It was too suspicious, considering what was up, to just let him go.

Kallen said tersely, "C'mon, then," and gestured flippantly for him to rise. He smiled and downed the last of his tea, then put a hand on the tatami and stood. Kallen stuck a hand in her pocket and briefly squeezed her purse to ensure its orientation, in case she should have to slit him open. The guy nodded and indicated for her to lead the way. She didn't like that glimmer of his eyes, the slate-like blandness.

She made him go first up the stairs, told him where to turn to get into her room, then watched him enter. She slid the door shut behind them and took the purse from her pocket, tapping it thoughtfully against her chin. The stranger was gazing around her room with clear interest. A long time ago she would have been feverishly wondering if she'd left underwear or anything else embarrassing around, but now she couldn't care less, and only stared at him, gauging.

"Nice room," he said solemnly, as was the generally approved comment for such situations. His stare lingered for a long time, particularly, on the photos she'd pinned up on a bulletin board near the door. He blinked sombrely. "Your old friends?"

"Sure," she said absently. The feeling of familiarity was increasing. Something about him… something about him was familiar to her. With crossed arms she observed him as he looked blankly at her pictures.

He said, gravely, "They look like good friends."

It was his voice. The voice was what she had recognized. But from where?

"Whatever," she snapped. "Tell me who you are and what you want."

The eyes swung placidly over her. "I'm…" He smiled, looked away. "Well… let's start with what I want. What I _need_."

"All right, then. Start talking," she pursed her lips stared unblinking.

"Kallen, I need you to help me rescue Nunnally," he said.

It was said casually. He hadn't even looked at her as he said it, still gazing at the photos. Immediately Kallen felt a chill pass through her, as goose bumps rose on her arms. If she'd taken the time to notice, she would've seen that her hand was gripping the purse so tightly it trembled.

She said, tremulously, "_What?_"

Now he looked at her, the empty eyes. "I think you heard me."

The voice.

"No. No way," she said. "This isn't possible."

"Certainly, it is," his expression was very slightly amused.

"I…" she muttered. "I… _saw _you…"

"Yes."

"…_die_." There were tears in her eyes, somehow, blurring the strange face before her.

He gave a small shrug. "And now you see me live."

She closed her eyes and breathed heavily. "What… _what_ is going on?"

"We're going to rescue Nunnally," he said with maddening calm. "And we need your help."

"But how do you even know she needs to be rescued? They said she's just-"

He waved a hand dismissively. "That's unimportant."

Kallen stared. She stared forcing a calm upon herself. "I don't believe you. What about C.C.?"

"She told me not to come. She said that you would turn me in," he said with an evaluating look directed at her.

"Maybe I will," Kallen said nervously. Then on a sudden reflex she hurriedly averted her eyes from his. "_Don't_ look at me. I swear to God I'll kill you if you try it-"

He raised his eyebrows as if in confusion. Then he chuckled, annoyingly. "Oh. _That_. Don't worry. It's gone forever."

"I don't believe you. I don't believe that you're… _you_. It can't be."

But there was a strange feeling in her. The stony sense of loss she had felt earlier was evaporating. Her heart was hammering in her chest and fire seemed to be roaring through all of her veins. It was like fear and elation and sorrow all felt as one. She felt like laughing hysterically, or crying, or screaming.

"Just…" Kallen said quietly. "Just show me your real face."

He smiled. Slowly his hand rose and the slender fingers bent, momentarily obscuring his face as they reached. His thumb and middle finger covered the dull eyes. He made a flourish, as though he were performing a magic trick, and the hand swept aside. And now his eyes simmered with a deep, dark violet.

* * *

Actually, something important just occured to me, which may be an issue after this chapter. Can you all please try not to post spoilers in your reviews if you choose to review? that would be a great help. Thanks.

JDCT

* * *


	9. Other Punishments

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Summer has officially begun and my exams are over. I am now free to get back to work on this story. I might have given some of you a scare there, but no worries--I have big plans for this yarn. Its a great diversion from the book I'm writing and a chance to explore some interesting things.

IWOBYD: oddly enough, the very day you posted your review I had just finished exams and decided to get working again, and when I got home I saw that you were hoping for more! Well then. Here is more! There will be still more in a fairly short amount of time (probably. I can't get _too _distracted from my book).

Enjoy.

* * *

The door slid open.

He was almost certain it had never happened before. Slowly, Suzaku Kururugi looked up at it, uncertain if his eyes were functioning properly. The door was, indeed, now open. He blinked at it, from where he was bent over against the wall. It occurred to him that, sometime in the past, it must have opened otherwise he wouldn't have been able to get in this room. And-he now recalled-it had also opened to let Jeremiah in.

But there was no one on the other side this time. No one stumbling into the cell, pushed by Britannian guards. In fact, he could see nothing beyond the door; the lights seemed to be out and the hallway gaped black.

"Jeremiah," said Suzaku carefully. "Is the-"

"Yes," said Jeremiah, whose shadowed form was equally as bent against the opposite wall.

"Why is the-"

"I don't know."

They both stared at the open door for a long moment. All at once, Suzaku remembered a feeling that he had felt long ago, a panicked urge to be free. For days and weeks he had felt that manic urge, until gradually with every time he awoke he seemed to grow less alive. He had desired to die. And after that, after it became evident that this was impossible, he had ceased to desire anything at all. For an immeasurable time now, he had felt nothing and forgotten all about all the things of life, like escape, or retribution.

But _now_ he felt that panic anew. He stared at the door without blinking, certain that if he did so it would be shut before his eyes opened again. His every instinct told him to leap up and bolt through the door, to madly scramble for it as fast as he could. But some part of his mind held a strange superstition-that if he moved towards the door it would snap closed.

He looked across the cell to Jeremiah, who was staring towards the door with his jaw slack in amazement. He seemed to be experiencing the same indecision that Suzaku was. It had to be a trick. Yet to ignore the opportunity…

Slowly, Suzaku let his hand creep forwards over the smooth floor, testing. The door remained open. He rolled clumsily over onto his hands and knees, head bent back so he could watch the door. His eyes burned because he had not blinked them recently. Gradually he shuffled forwards, cringing at every soft sound of his hands and knees over the floor, with every lurching movement. He grew nearer to the door. It remained open.

It was going to slam shut. He was sure of it. As soon as he got close enough, it would slam shut.

Something unexpected happened and Suzaku nearly collapsed forward in astonishment: without warning a human silhouette appeared against the deeper blackness behind the door. What was especially startling about this was that Suzaku hadn't even heard any footsteps approaching down the hallway. There was a sudden intake of breath from Jeremiah behind him. Suzaku froze and stared at the new shape, uncertain if it had seen him in the darkness.

The shadow slid forward into the cell, on utterly silent footfalls.

A voice emerged, low and female. "Lord Jeremiah?"

Jeremiah cleared his throat and spoke weakly. "Yes?" Then he said, "May I help you?"

The unseen woman chuckled politely. "You have that backwards, I think."

Suddenly, a blinding light snapped into existence and Suzaku fell backwards with a hand shielding his face. The light was pale and cold, a tiny blue sun shining from the direction of the woman. He recognized it, belatedly, as a flashlight. In its illumination he saw the black gloved hand that held it, and a clearer picture of the newcomer. She was dressed all in black, a uniform Suzaku now recognized as that of a Britannian foot soldier. Her face was still in darkness, but he recognized the bulk of a night-vision set as she reached to pull it from over her eyes.

"Who is this?" she asked curiously, and Suzaku winced as the light blazed over his face again.

Jeremiah said affably, "The real Zero. Who are _you_?"

Her hand twisted upwards, so that the flashlight beam illuminated her own face, which was covered from the nose down by a tightly-wrapped black scarf. She lifted a finger to tug the scarf down under her chin, exposing her face, and smiled pleasantly. Suzaku stared in disbelief because he had never expected to see this woman wearing night-vision goggles and a Britannian combat suit.

"Miss _Sayoko_?" he said incredulously.

Her expression suddenly changed as her eyes widened and stared down at him. The flashlight left her face in darkness and flowed over him again. He squinted. Sayoko said, "Oh my…" with a slight waver in her voice. "Is it really you?"

For a moment he knelt, chewing his lip. His fists were pressed down into the floor, a stone-sharp pain in his knuckles. Then he felt a smile begin to spread over his face. He said, flatly, "Yes. I guess it is."

There was a kind of smirk growing on Sayoko's face, Suzaku could see as the flashlight moved over to Jeremiah's end of the cell. The pale light was just hovering over her lips as they bent in something like satisfaction. "So _that's _how it was done."

"Yes," said Jeremiah softly, then groaned as he spread his hands on the floor, attempting to rise to his feet.

"Here, let me help you," Sayoko said, but when Suzaku turned to her it was _him_ she was helping, not Jeremiah. The woman knelt and supported his arm as he slowly extended his legs below him. Suzaku felt immediately light-headed as he rose to his full height, and his legs seemed to be constructed of paper. Sayoko's smiling face was before his now, inclined slightly up as she supported him.

She said, "You've gotten older. You could use a shave," then, inexplicably, warmly, "But you're still about as handsome as ever."

Suzaku blinked in astonishment and felt a slow embarrassment, almost a forgotten feeling down here in the dark. "Um…" he said gutturally as she propped him carefully against the wall.

Jeremiah coughed. He had felt his way to a standing position and was currently leaning nonchalantly against the opposite wall. He said, over his crossed arms, "I, however, have become even _more_ handsome than ever." Then he chuckled pleasantly. "In any case, we should probably be going. How did you get in here, Miss Shinozaki?"

"Carefully," the Japanese woman said. "We've cut main and emergency power, but it should be back up soon. I have, um…" she appeared suddenly concerned. "A set of Britannian combat fatigues for _one_ of you to wear. We didn't realize there were two of you to rescue."

Jeremiah and Suzaku turned to each other and began a polite argument, each insisting the other don the uniform. Eventually, after some input from Sayoko, it was decided that Suzaku would wear the armour because his flesh, unlike Jeremiah's, was pervious to bullets. They set off through the blackened tunnels, after Suzaku had pulled on the uniform over his prison clothing. Sayoko told them that for security's sake she was going to shut off her flashlight, and so Suzaku pulled his suit's night-vision goggles down over his face, bathing the angular tunnel in a grainy illumination. Sayoko led them, being the only person among them with any idea of the place's layout. Jeremiah followed, blindly, with a hand clamped over her shoulder, and Suzaku brought up the rear.

As they went, he absently perused the sensation of wearing one of these combat suits again--how long had it been? Not long enough. His fingers crept down to his belt, where they automatically undid the snap on his thigh-holster and slid the sidearm out. Its weight felt familiar. He hoped that he would not have to use it.

After only a few moments of walking, Suzaku felt a strange weakness overcome him. An ache flared in his thighs, and soon his legs were trembling with effort; he identified the feeling, with surprise, as fatigue. It was as though he'd been running for hours. He stumbled against the wall and caught himself, glaring down at his legs.

"Something's wrong," he said, his voice loud and shrill in the silence of the tunnels. "My legs."

Sayoko and Jeremiah turned. He saw Jeremiah's eyes searching for him vainly, glassy with the light-amplification. "Probably your muscles are weak," he rumbled with sympathy. "You haven't walked in months."

Of course. Muscle atrophication. It was the kind of thing he'd always known about, but had never expected to affect him. He'd never known he would ever end up spending this long in confinement. It was so strange--he seemed to have left the cell so far behind. Just ten minutes ago he had felt nothing, had barely even had an existence to call his own. Now he felt as though the cell was someone else's story, or some dim memory from years past. It was another world, and a different man had lived there.

Suzaku shook his head at the strangeness of the thought. And then he eased off the wall, ignored the burn in his legs, and continued on after the others.

They were accosted only once, on their way up to ground level.

Three Britannian soldiers found them in a pitch-dark stairwell and questioned them, relaxed at first, the NV goggles like the eyes of spiders, bulbous on their faces. The leader leaned on the rail, nodded down at Sayoko and gave her a casual salute. He said: "Anything wrong down that block?"

"No," said Sayoko. "We're just on our way up."

The soldier's head dipped in a nod. "Weirdest thing I've ever seen. Emergency power should be back in maybe ten minutes. Looks like all the locks held, at least on _this_ floor." He gestured to the freshly closed door up on the landing behind his team.

Sayoko responded with remarkable cool. "One of them on the floor below us was open. We found this prisoner wandering."

But the soldier stared at Jeremiah with a cold silence. He said eventually, an odd tone in his voice. "Is that Margrave Jeremiah?"

"Um," said Sayoko, who swivelled around to look at Jeremiah where he was lingering with his hand on her shoulder. "It… _could_ be. Maybe. I think you're right."

There was a sudden rustling of activity among the soldiers. The leader glanced nervously back at his companions, muttering something barely audible. Sounded like, " "Gefjun… Do you… you got one on you?"

The others patted themselves down, came up empty. Their body language became noticeably more apprehensive. The leader turned back to Sayoko. "He's… he could be very dangerous," said the soldier as though reluctant to remind Jeremiah that he had the potential to be dangerous. "You have a Gefjun disturber, right?"

The pause was enough to tip him off. "Damn," he muttered, and gave a quick hand signal. His team's rifles were up immediately and pointed towards Jeremiah. "Get _back_ from him," he warned Sayoko and Suzaku. "Don't try anything, Margrave," and then more softly he spoke to his teammate: "Call for backup."

Suzaku saw the other soldier reach to his helmet, and recognized the gesture from his days in the infantry: the man was about to engage his helmet mic and contact his controller. The handgun was heavy in Suzaku's hand, as a sudden thrill of excitement went through him. He snapped the gun up, barely thinking about the aim. He squeezed the trigger. It cracked and bucked in his hands, sending off a terrific flare in his goggles. The man he'd targeted spun aside with a shout, his hand flailing in the air.

Even as the other two were reacting, Sayoko moved. Her arm scythed about, whipping towards them, and finished with an open palm pointed at the floor. Suzaku saw the blurs of darkness, and then the soldiers toppled over as though shot through the head. She suddenly flowed up the stairs, where the one Suzaku had shot was groaning and cradling his arm. Her elbow drove into the side of his head and silenced him.

Suzaku stood over her where she knelt retrieving her throwing-stars, one from each neck of the men she had killed. Their blood seeped across the landing, dribbled over the steps, a black stain. She smiled down at the survivor, and at where Suzaku's bullet had pierced cleanly through the meat of his palm. She said, "Your morals have not changed. Thankfully, neither has your aim."

It was the only time they were given any trouble during the escape. Sayoko risked a little light, and in the bluish glare Jeremiah put on the least bloodstained of the three uniforms. He pulled the headset over his eyes, straightened, and let his mouth spread into a grin. Suzaku could not help but return the smile. He felt a giddiness in him. It was not over--his life. His _life_ went on. And he was smiling. If he was smiling, and if Jeremiah was smiling, then maybe all that had happened thus far did not really matter all that much. Maybe these were the smiles of madmen. Maybe they were skull-grins. Maybe it didn't make a difference.

For some reason, there in the darkness, he could not find a reason to stop smiling.

They climbed another ten or fifteen flights of stairs, such that by the time they reached the top Suzaku's legs were shaking again and he had to catch his breath against the wall. Then they pushed through the little door and out into the facility proper. Suzaku bit off a yelp of pain and quickly pulled his night-vision goggles up against the sudden blaze of white. The lights had come back on. He saw a pristine hallway with a tiled floor. Sayoko had pulled off her goggles, but Jeremiah hadn't. Jeremiah said: "Sayoko. Can I switch them off? My implant--"

"_Oh_," she said in realization, and reached over. She touched a switch on top of Jeremiah's goggles, and he nodded in satisfaction. With the goggles still over his face, his rather noticeable bronze implant was hidden.

They moved through the facility without incident. Seemed like everywhere people were bustling around with important things to do. It occurred to Suzaku to ask Sayoko just who she was working with and how they'd killed the power, but now seemed a bad time. He focused on looking as though he was in a hurry to get somewhere and carry out important duties. He didn't look at anyone, only stared at Sayoko's back as she led them wordlessly through twists and turns in the complex. Eventually they exited through a set of glass doors and began to cross a paved section--outside.

It was the feel of open air, and of wind sliding over his cheeks, that nearly stopped Suzaku from moving. Nearly paralyzed him with a trembling awe. He had forgotten the wind. Literally forgotten that it existed, and now here it was all around him, nipping at him, apparently as happy with the reunion as he was--

Sayoko turned and motioned feverishly. He was standing in the middle of the road, staring at nothing. Embarrassed, he jogged to catch up with them. It was night, and cloudy. The stretch of pavement was wide, and in the distance he could see the silhouettes of guard-towers, and the snarls of barbed wire atop pale stone walls. Seemed overkill, really, for a prison located underground whose occupants never left their cells.

There was a tang of smoke on the air, and maybe something like slagged machinery. Smelled like a battle, actually, from what Suzaku could remember about battles. He looked around as he moved, seeing a lumbering cloud of smoke at one corner of the facility, at the base of which something was on fire. Suzaku caught up to Sayoko and Jeremiah, and said, "So how did--"

"I'll tell you later," she snapped. "Get in."

They were at a hefty military vehicle, a troop-transport truck. Sayoko had the key, and obviously intended to drive. Jeremiah and Suzaku got in the back, silently. The truck roared to life, and then set into motion. Suzaku leaned his head wearily against the window. Too much action for one day…

At the gatehouse, Sayoko offered some credentials to the guard. These were good enough that they were let immediately through. Soon they were hurtling down empty night-time highways. Sayoko drove intently for a long moment, checking her mirrors incessantly, as though worried about pursuit. Before long she relaxed, however. She slowed down, peeled off her headset and tossed it onto the passenger seat. Then her eyes found Suzaku's, in the rear view mirror.

"So," she called over the thrum of the engine. "Here's what happened: Miss Anya Alstreim found out where you were being kept--Jeremiah--and when I came to her she was already scheming something. So I offered my help. We planned and carried out the operation. While I infiltrated the prison, Miss Alstreim staged an attack. After all, the Knights of the Round are known to sometimes test the defences of these facilities--"

Suzaku snorted. "I don't know if this counts…"

"Right. Well, we'll see. She didn't get permission from the Knight of One, or anyone else, so there could be trouble."

"Knight of One…" Suzaku mumbled.

"That's Gino Weinberg now," Sayoko told him.

"I know," said Suzaku. "His promotion was my idea. Back when I was Zero."

"Maybe he'd help us--"

"Maybe," said Suzaku dubiously.

"Anyway," Sayoko went on, "She took out the generators and made a fairly terrific distraction. The rest was easy. I slipped in with these combats, unlocked your cell, and made my way down there."

"Well done," Jeremiah put in grandly, and clapped his hands together a few times. "We'll have to find some way to thank you."

Sayoko's voice was tight, suddenly, with emotion. "Thank me by helping me rescue Nunnally."

Jeremiah smiled. "Of course. That will be our next step, I assume." His turned to Suzaku across the back seat, his living eye glinting with a kind of zeal. "Eh, Suzaku?"

Suzaku only nodded listlessly with his head against the window. All the energy had seemed to drain out of him the moment he was sitting again. He wanted nothing more than to use his body again--like the old days. Maybe to go for a run. He remembered in the distant past how he had felt after a few solid hours of training with Todou: the blaze of exertion in his forearms from holding the bokken, the ache of the various temperate hits Todou would inflict with the wooden sword.

Now, though, all he felt was a kind of bone weariness. All the cares had come back to him. The things that he had so ruthlessly shed, the things of life that had vanished from him while in prision--they were all flooding back now. Already the non-existence he had enjoyed was being replaced by all the old tensions and worries. Amazing. Amazing, how now he could almost remember that cell with fondness.

It was the closest to death he had ever been.

It had been a featureless place. It had nothing--but it didn't need to have anything. It was a place where a soul could exist sealed away from the world, as good as dead. And with enough time not even boredom had existed anymore, blasted away by the sheer inexorable blackness. It was a place where there had been absolutely nothing. No life. No death. Nothing. The sheer bliss of it! Of being nonexistent! There had been times in that place when he could almost grasp the feeling of it.

But now it had all been carried away to some other place. Now he could barely remember what it felt like. It was as though his old self had been waiting on the doorstep of the cell to reclaim his body. Nothing had changed, after all that time in the dark! And the tiniest part of him, the smallest hateful part, wanted to go back.

So now he did what he could. He slid his head far down the chilly window, and went slowly to sleep.

Suzaku awoke from under a cloudy heat. It made no sense, at first. Why was he awake? And why was it warm? It was never warm. It was never cold, either. It was never anything at all.

But then the bleariness of sleep receded from his mind and he remembered what had happened. He lay awake for a few seconds without knowing anything except that he was free. Then he began to notice other things: he was warm because he was under a thick blanket on a tall bed. The light in the room was dim, bleeding in around the edges of a heavy curtain. The ceiling was white. The carpet was an undeterminable greenish-brown color common to hotels. The air smelled clean, faintly perfumed.

Slowly, Suzaku Kururugi sat up. His back was hurting. And his legs. In fact, now that he was paying attention, he noticed there were few parts of him that did not hurt. He groaned, reaching up to paw in his tangled greasy hair.

Someone was singing. An operatic bass voice over the hissing of a shower. Suzaku frowned. It seemed that he was listening to Jeremiah Gottwald singing in the shower. A murky smile spread over Suzaku's face, and then he shook his head in disbelief and fell back on the bed, arms spread wide. He stared for a long while at the ceiling.

A few minutes later the bathroom door came open and Jeremiah issued out of it, wearing a white bathrobe and ruffling his hair with a towel. He was still singing mindlessly, nonsense words, as he sat on the edge of a second bed and flipped the towel over his shoulder. His turquoise hair lay flatter than normal with dampness. He turned a broad grin upon Suzaku:

"You should have a shower. But don't shave, the stubble makes you harder to recognize."

Suzaku lurched up onto his elbows and blinked at the older man. "…Where's Sayoko?"

"Taking care of a few things, and catching up to Anya, I believe. She didn't stay with us here. We're supposed to meet the both of them in, I believe," he leaned to glance at the clock, "three and a half hours, at the Shopping Centre." Then Jeremiah waved a hand in the direction of the bathroom, and said pleasantly, "Shower. Please. For the sake of my nostrils."

Suzaku didn't move. He said, "Where are we?"

"New Tintagel. On the outskirts; we'll have to take a taxi downtown to meet the others. Sayoko left some money and clothing."

Suzaku frowned. New Tintagel was one of the larger cities on the east coast of mainland Britannia. With Pendragon obliterated, it had taken on a lot of government functions including being the new seat of the House of Lords. They had a lot of enemies in this city.

"Um," Suzaku scratched his cheek. "What about your implant? That's pretty visible."

Jeremiah was smiling. "Sayoko left a roll of gauze. I'll just bandage it up. It will look as though I've had some terrible facial injury."

Suzaku nodded sombrely. Then he pushed the blanket down off his body and eased his feet down to press into the carpet, wincing. He slouched there for a minute, massaging the back of his neck. "Did you carry me in here?"

Jeremiah nodded with a vaguely amused look. "You were sleeping so soundly."

Suzaku snorted. He heaved up to his feet and went in to the bathroom. The mirror was still fogged up from Jeremiah's shower, the atmosphere thick with heat and moisture. Suzaku closed the door. He wearily pulled off the remainder of his combat suit--Jeremiah and Sayoko had already removed his body armour, probably so he could sleep better. Underneath was the prison uniform: Suzaku tore it off and stared distastefully at its rumpled pile on the bathroom floor. He looked at himself in the mirror. He was thin and pale, and his hair was almost shoulder-length and thick with grease. His cheeks, chin, and upper lip were sparsely covered in brown hair. He scratched quizzically in the stubble. It was hard to imagine that Sayoko had been serious when she'd called him handsome.

Suzaku stood beneath scalding water in the shower and lathered himself for almost an hour. Finally, Jeremiah came to knock patiently at the door. They would have to leave soon or be late for their meeting with Sayoko and Anya. When Suzaku stepped out of the shower his skin tingled, and parts of him had turned bright pink. He dried himself, stepped forward. On an impulse, he swept his hand through the condensation on the mirror, and for a moment stared into his own emerald eyes. At least those would always be his.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and went out, the air of the room chilly after the shower. Sayoko had left clothing for him, a simple pair of jeans and a white short-sleeved shirt. Jeremiah was lounging in a chair to one side, one leg folded up onto the other. He was similarly dressed in casual clothing. With few words, Suzaku dressed himself, tucked in his shirt, and crossed his arms, waiting.

Jeremiah stood. "You look scruffy."

They left the room and checked out at the front desk. Jeremiah called a taxi while Suzaku waited on a leather couch in the lobby. They had stuffed all their old clothes into the shopping bags Sayoko had brought their new ones in. These bags, on the way to meet their taxi, they tossed into a garbage dumpster behind the hotel restaurant.

They rode for almost an hour in the taxi, over first country high-ways, and then city promenades, the roads rising up into bright helixes of steel and concrete, winding in and around the spires and towers of the city. Here and there were erected gigantic solar panels on steel frames, which supplied some of New Tintagel's power, as was customary for Britannian cities. Unlike the Tokyo Settlement, however, the weather in Britannia wasn't always sunny enough to rely on these. During the winter, Tintagel and the other metropolises relied on hydroelectric power, wind power, and their solar reserves. As Zero, Suzaku had seen documents suggesting that some scientists were trying to use the technique of a FLEIJA device to generate safe power. Having seen FLEIJA destruction for himself, he harboured deep reservations about such research.

They drove into the heart of the city. The causeway dipped down, swerving until it led them into a tunnel. Here the driver navigated carefully, around other taxies, cars, busses, and finally came to a halt next to the curb beside a massive set of doors. This was the main entrance for the Shalott Memorial Shopping Centre, or just the Shalott Centre. It was the largest and busiest mall in the world. Suzaku had never been before.

They paid the driver and disembarked into the faux-day of the underground, the lights gaudy and thick with advertising. They went up the wide front steps with their brass handrails, and Suzaku stared far up as they did so, seeing the art-deco façade of the place, a vaulting marble wall, carved with pillars and gargoyles, almost pyramidal in its design.

They went inside, browsing. It was good that they had left extra time to meet the others, for the concourse was sprawling and mazelike. Jeremiah knew only the name of the coffee shop they intended to meet at. Suzaku and he consulted lengthily with a map of the place before they located it and set off, over the jumble of walkways, the tangled silver escalators.

Eventually they arrived. The place was small and somewhat secluded, hollowed back into the shiny exterior, darker and rustic inside. The walls and floor were stylish and wooden. Jeremiah and Suzaku were early, and so browsed around the adjacent shops for a little while. In a boutique next door, Suzaku stood rotating a rack full of sun-glasses until he could find a pair he liked. He selected a set of black aviators and put them on his nose, staring at himself in the narrow mirror. With his eyes covered, he could barely recognize himself.

Jeremiah nodded appraisingly at him, his good eye blinking beside the swath of bandages covering the other half of his face. "Good choice."

So it was sporting a nice new pair of shades that Suzaku stepped back into the coffee shop and made for the back corner. Sayoko and Anya had arrived by this time, had obtained the only booth in the establishment, in the rear next to a brick fireplace. Suzaku and Jeremiah slid in beside them and for a moment nothing was said; Suzaku nodded grimly to Sayoko and Anya in turn, his gaze lingering for a moment on the latter, who he had not seen in quite some time. She had not changed much. The array of pink hair was the same, and the fact that she rose only as tall as his shoulder. She offered her usual solemn rosy stare, as though not in the slightest amazed by his sudden reappearance, alive, if thinner and covered in hair.

Anya told him, sagely, "They sell caramel mochas here. I saw on the menu."

Suzaku said, "Um. Good to see you, too."

"Sayoko said you were really Zero all this time," Anya said with boredom. Her small hand came up holding a pink phone; she aimed the camera at him and it make a little clicking noise. "You look like a monkey."

"Thanks."

"Hi, Jeremiah," she turned to him. "How was jail?"

"Not good at all," he said with relish.

"That's too bad," Anya turned her grim pink stare down and inspected the photo she'd taken of Suzaku.

She and Sayoko had ordered drinks, which arrived now; inexplicably, Anya had ordered a black tea instead of the caramel mocha she'd mentioned. The waitress took orders from Jeremiah and Suzaku; tea for the former, plain water the latter. They sat for a long while, their conversation meandering pointlessly. Suzaku did not pay attention to anything that was being said by the others. Eventually, after all the drinks had arrived, they started talking about more serious matters.

Jeremiah leaned in and spoke quietly. "I saw Nunnally at Aries palace. So what is our best approach to rescuing her?"

Sayoko said, with her elbows primly together on the table, "They could have moved her, don't forget. Especially considering you saw her, and now you've escaped. Maybe she's somewhere more secure now."

"Except that _nowhere_ is more secure than Aries," said Jeremiah. Then he shrugged. "We need a source of information from within the government." And his orange eye looked up at Suzaku. "Ideas?"

Uncomfortably, Suzaku scratched his cheek. "Well. Before, I _was_ in the government. But now I'm never going to be able to get information. That's the thing about Zero--you either are him or you're not, no middle ground."

"It's too bad you're not any more," said Jeremiah ruefully. "Schniezel would make a good asset right about now."

"Hold on a moment," Sayoko raised a palm to stop him, took a long sip, and exhaled. "So. Um. Who _is_ Zero right now, then?"

Suzaku and Jeremiah exchanged frowns. "That is," said Jeremiah, "An excellent question." And he sat back with his long fingers entangling his chin. "Some person, probably. An ally of whatever faction is keeping Nunnally unconscious." But he looked perplexed.

Jeremiah went on, "You know, it was his _voice_ that was wrong, when I met him. But it wasn't a stranger's voice, either. I knew something was wrong because it wasn't _your_ voice," he gestured at Suzaku. "But I still recognized it. It took me a long time in prison, thinking it over, to finally realize it--I can scarcely believe it took so long. It was _Lelouch's_ voice."

Suzaku's fingers curled into a fist. He knew that Jeremiah didn't mean it in _that_ way. He knew Jeremiah didn't mean he was _back, _but still Suzaki was tense all over, just hearing that even his _voice_ was back, like some poltergeist playing tricks.

"They used the wrong voice, then," Sayoko said, startling Suzaku. "A voice-modulator, like I used when I was impersonating Lelouch. But they used the voice of the _old_ Zero, not Suzaku."

"Exactly," said Jeremiah. "So Zero could be anyone. He might not even always be the same person in every appearance."

Suzaku sat back. He was half-listening. In his mind he was trying to conjure up the sound of Lelouch's voice. If he ever met the new Zero… to hear that voice again… how would it feel? Nostalgic? He wondered.

Anya spoke, finally. She said, "So we need to get to the new Zero. Make him talk."

"That's true," Jeremiah was nodding. "He's the only person we _know_ is our enemy."

Sayoko said, nodding. "The sooner the real Zero is back, the sooner we control Schniezel."

Suzaku looked up warily. They wanted him to go back behind the mask. He cleared his throat, then merely looked back down again. His thin fingers tapped nervously on the table. To be Zero. It was his punishment for all he'd done, but it wasn't the punishment he'd wanted. The punishment that he'd yearned for all this time was really no punishment at all, but a refuge. And in the cell he had found a measure of that refuge.

Now everything had crowded in at him again. He stared up at the others from beneath his tousled brown bangs. Their lips moved, speaking, making plans. They were grabbing the smoothness of the world, its white-paper simplicity, and crumpling it on itself, wrinkles and tears multiplying. It was all just building up upon itself, wasn't it? Since the dawn of time, mistake after mistake, until now every step brought them farther from perfection.

He craved the desolate calm he had caught in flashes in the cell. He had glimpsed it there in the dark. Something that allowed him to, in brief instants, understand what it meant to die. Something vast and immaterial, looming far above the scratching and squalling of humans in the dust and ruin of their own making. He had felt its presence, some dark saviour waiting to emerge and smooth out the wrinkles, correct the mistakes. And bring it all back to Zero.


	10. The Soldier Side

"Ohgi is going to kill me," muttered Kallen, on the train with its press of bodies jolting against her.

She said it again on the bus ride out to the base with dozens of other JSDF soldiers, her duffel bag stuffed under her seat and her head against the rattling window, quietly: "Ohgi is going to kill me."

And she said it a third time alone in her quarters in the barracks, unpacking her things for the week (supposedly) with the lights off and twilight around her. She sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her face wearily with her hands: "Ohgi is going to _kill_ me."

The next day, at noon, she was out on the tarmac, strutting through Japanese summer heat in the slightly-too-hot jumpsuit, the Guren's key sticking to the sweat on her chest. She went into the shade of a hangar, steeled herself, and went to meet a squadron of trainees who had just enlisted in the Black Knights and lacked proper training. She sat on a folding chair and distractedly briefed them on the exercises that they were going to be doing that afternoon: basic manoeuvring, bipedal movement and basic manipulation with the hands, moving up to land spinner use and misuse later in the day. It was all pretty boring and the things that she was saying barely passed through her mind on the way out her mouth. But every now and then she would glance up and see a bunch of privates and corporals taking notes, staring intently. Many of them were older than she was. It was a weird feeling, actually, now that she had the time to notice it: but it was nowhere near as weird as that _other_ feeling, the one that made her mutter, "Ohgi is going to kill me," whenever nobody was in earshot.

After the briefing the recruits all piled into black Akatsukis and clumsily made their way out to the range. Kallen climbed tiredly into the Guren S.E.I.T.E.N. for the first time in two weeks. The cockpit, above her, polarized and slid shut.

For a moment she sat without moving. She breathed in and out. When she closed her eyes she could still recognize her surroundings, by the faint smell of the Guren's electronics and its upholstery. And even just the feel of the seat.

It had only been two weeks since she'd piloted the Guren, yet now something was unmistakably different. Now, sitting in the cockpit, it didn't just make her feel nostalgic like it had before. It didn't make her miss the old times anymore. Just like her mom had said.

She would make new times.

So it was with a wide smile that Kallen powered up the drive and stepped out of the hangar. Tomorrow. Ohgi was going to kill her for what she would do tomorrow.

Training went about as well as could be expected. Most of the recruits were very raw, either totally new to the military or transferred from sections other than Knightmare piloting. Nevertheless, some progress was made. Wearily they all retired to the barracks, some clustering around Kallen where she was trying to scarf a quick dinner, asking questions, wondering this and that thing about the day's work. There was promise there, Kallen mused later on; they were eager, and proud to be Japanese. And only two of them had tried to hit on her.

That night she barely slept at all, nothing but tossing and turning. Closing her eyes made no difference, for she was still restless, imagining the ramifications of the next day's plan. And every time she closed them all she could see _his_ eyes, piercing lavender, and his smirk. She should have demanded to see his face, shouldn't she? She couldn't bring herself to even think his name. So for now, in her rushing anxieties, she simply thought of him as _him_. There was only one _him_, really. The only person who could make her this terrified and excited at the same time. Not in a romantic way, of course. She could never think of him that way. Once, maybe. But not after everything he had done.

Why was she doing this?

Amazingly, it was the first time she had wondered this. It stopped her for a moment and she simply sat up in bed, in the pitch black. "What the hell am I _thinking_?" And she just sat there angrily waiting for an answer, until it became clear that none would come. So she turned over on her knees and just punched the pillow several dozen times. Eventually she fell asleep--or must have, because she was waking up now, into a pale morning glow. For a moment she was totally calm, took a huge yawn and a stretch, then settled comfortably. But then she remembered what was happening today, and her gut clenched right up. She was worried her hands might start shaking.

"Ohgi is going to kill me."

She stood up out of bed, nervously checking the time. She stripped out of her military-issue unisex pajamas, took a cold shower, and pulled on her jumpsuit. She put on her bandana and pushed it up under her hairline, took a long look at her own face in the mirror.

"It's not treason," she told herself. "It's totally not treason." But then, because it absolutely _was_ treason, she started grinning like a maniac. Really, she should not have been amused. There wasn't much funny about it.

She sat on the edge of the bed, checking the time periodically. It was way too early. Her training wasn't for another hour. But there was no way she could go back to sleep. And for some reason she could not stop checking the time.

She tried to eat breakfast, but didn't do so well at that. All she could think about was what he had said, "And now you see me live." Maybe next time she saw him he would show her his face. He knew he could trust her. She was his personal bodyguard… Kallen frowned at herself. She _used_ to be his bodyguard, sure. But that was until he'd betrayed everybody. He _had _betrayed everybody, hadn't he? For some reason, she wasn't so concerned with that anymore. Part of her expected it all to be a dream still, or some schizophrenic vision. Maybe she'd finally gone crazy. Figures it would take _him_ to drive her out of her mind.

She left the barracks early, hung around in the hangar, pacing around skittishly in front of the Guren's red shins. Eventually her trainees began to file sleepily into the hangar. Many of them seemed startled to see her so animated today, as opposed to the previous day's slumped, nonplussed Sargeant Kozuki. Today's Sargeant Kozuki was standing rigidly, tapping a foot with her arms crossed and speaking loudly about the proper operation of land spinners over variable terrain, gesticulating wildly and shaking fingers at them as though really mad about something.

They powered up their Knightmares and went out to the range. An hour went by, laboriously. Kallen sweated and watched the time, barely concerned for the training mission now. The next half hour passed, and now she was sitting in clenched anticipation, trying not to watch the sky, the peripheries of the base. Another ten minutes passed.

Her clenched worry intensified. Where _was_ that incompetent bastard? Zealous Shadow was _late_, of all things, late for the moment she`d been worried about for a week. She'd arranged a specific time, exactly according to a plan. If he was much later, Todou would be out with his own squadron on test runs, and if Zealous showed when Todou was on the field their plan was toast--

The speakers crackled and the voices of her controllers broke in on the frequency she was using to talk to her trainees. The voices were familiar, those of officers failing to maintain control of a situation, each vying for dominance.

"Sargeant Kozuki, we have a slight discrepancy in our--"

"--unknown contact! Fast-moving--"

"--please investigate--"

"--ETA three seconds--"

"--where did it come from?--"

"--Incoming fire!"

And with that the situation degenerated handily into chaos. Kallen looked to the sky in the east, where a tree-line had just blossomed three different missile trails which all arced in towards the base. And roaring overhead just behind them came the black silhouette of a Knightmare riding floats, swooping over at something approaching the speed of sound. The screech of the over-flight and the thuds of explosions came as one through her external microphones.

All of her communications from HQ suddenly ceased. Zealous had probably aimed his missiles for the comm systems of the base, or was using some kind of jamming. She looked for him, taking stock of the damage he'd done. She frowned. Looked as though the missiles had all impacted around the main building, sending up clouds of dust but not doing any serious harm.

From overtop one of the hangars came a pair of Knightmares, scraping the roof in close MVS combat. One of them whirled and caused the other to topple backwards off the hangar, the colossal machine slumping hard against the asphalt. The other dropped off the roof, drew an MVS knife, and smoothly crippled its foe with a gouge at each knee.

Ohgi was going to kill her. Each of these Akatsuki was worth millions. And repair cost almost as much as getting a new one.

As it finished its foe, Zealous' Knightmare rose to give her a goading look with its reddish factspheres. She itched to pound its face in but that wasn't part of the plan. She engaged her external mic and gave orders to her trainees.

"Fall back. I'll take him."

They did not seem reluctant to obey. Kallen barely gave them a second look before she charged in at Zealous. The plan was going pretty smooth so far. Only one step left. She closed in, getting her first good look at whatever it was Zealous was piloting. Jet black, some weird angular refit of a Gloucester maybe. Looked like he only had a few slash harkens, an MVS knife, and an SMG. The fact spheres were built into little red glowing 'eyes' in the frame's head.

She came in with the slash harkens first, negligently. They swept in towards Zealous' mecha and skipped off his forearm as he raised it in a parry--just as planned.

And then he slid to one side in a blur, and the fire-edged knife was plunging up to gut her--the_ hell_ was he doing? She parried, spun aside, gave him a short disapproving look. About now, he was supposed to be running…

But now he feinted in, shot the slash harkens low, trying to trip her up. She avoided this by flying straight up into the air on translucent pink energy wings, a rather impressive way to dodge something. He followed her on his second-rate floats, trying to close the distance further, engage her again with the knife.

What did he think she was, some rookie? If he wanted to play around, she would be more than happy to rip an arm or two off in the course of the match. With a growl she unfurled Guren's oversized silver right arm and let loose, an angry red spike of irradiated energy. She was aiming for the right shoulder, but he slipped out of the way and let loose a burst of cannon fire, orange tracers lancing up at her. She brought the arm around, easily collecting the bullets into a swirling funnel, vaporizing them.

Seeing this, Zealous's Knightmare turned and was instantly gone. Finally. She hoped the idiot had had his fun. She dropped out of the sky in a blistering pursuit. His mech was a distant skittering dark shape, streaking down towards an emerald vista of forest. This was when communication with HQ was restored. She assured them that she was in pursuit of the unidentified knightmare., then clicked her comm off.

She was gaining rather quickly. The distance closed between them as they fell towards the mountains. Zealous neared a green ridge and seemed almost to glance off it, maneuvering his frame jerkily around, placing the ridge between he and her. She swept past it and hovered, expecting some trick. But Zealous was already far below, seemingly unconcerned with her, his black shape skimming the floor of a valley, leaving the area in haste.

She swooped down after him, energy wings extended, screaming low over treetops as she kept him in sight. This too was part of the plan. This far down in the valley, the radar systems of the base would not be able to track them. Almost as an after-thought, Kallen reached to turn off her ID transponder. With it broadcasting, she'd be incapable of stealth.

Hopefully they would assume she had been disabled or destroyed somewhere in the mountains. And thus would never dream of thinking that she had run off with a couple mercenaries and _him_ to kidnap the empress.

"Ohgi is going to kill me," said Kallen automatically.

Presently, she looked up and realized that Zealous had vanished. She whirled over as she flew, wondering if he wanted a rematch of their earlier fight. But he was nowhere in sight. On her cell phone, though, was a text message with coordinates for the meeting point. She input these into the computer and began to navigate herself towards it.

Halfway up a mountain, on a tiny gravel road, she found an eighteen-wheeler with a common Japanese corporate logo on the side. At her approach, the roof of the cargo section began to split open. This was her ride. Guren hovered daintily overtop for a moment, then lowered into the compartment, the energy wing system dissipating and folding in. She bent forward on one knee and hugged the arms forwards. It was a familiar sensation; it had been a long time since she'd needed to conceal the Guren for transport in this way.

She disembarked and dropped to the floor with a clang. This truck was old and ratty compared to Black Knights vehicles. There were scuff marks engraved in the floor where, presumably, Knightmare feet had shifted and ground into it. She noted that there was room for almost two other Knightmares in the space behind Guren. There were no tethers or hooks along the walls, for securing cargo during movement. Hopefully the Guren's paint would not get scratched. Though probably that was the least of her concern.

She clomped down the aft ramp of the truck and circled round for the cabin. There, sitting on the tall chrome fender, she found a lean man with brown hair, squinting blue eyes, and a cigar between his teeth. Kallen's eyes widened in fury and she pointed a finger at him:

"You!"

He turned ponderously to grin at her, then planted his hands on his thighs and stood, squaring his shoulders. "Thieving delivery service. You steal it, we deliver it."

Kallen planted a foot in the dirt, wound her arm up, put some shoulder behind it, and punched him in the cheekbone. He turned aside with the blow and the cigar flipped out of his mouth to land on the ground. His hands were on his hips and now he was scowling down at the dropped cigar.

"No appreciation for a good one-liner…" he muttered, stepped over, and flattened the cigar against the road with one boot. "You know how long it took me to think that line up?"

Kallen ignored his antics. Her fists were up in classic boxing stance. "Come on. You scared to finish what we started?"

"Sure. Whatever." Thieving's hand rose to massage his tanned cheek, where her knuckle had bit in and drawn a little blood. "You're crazy. That's good. We can probably work together."

She glared petulantly over her raised fists. "You think I'm joking? If you've got the chops for a fair fight I'm waiting."

He waved her away, turning aside, retrieving a fresh cigar from a pocket. "I already said I don't hit women."

"You are _pissing_ me off." She grimaced and flicked her hands at him in dismissal. "A woman could kick your ass as easy as a man. Gender has nothing to do with combat ability. That's a stupid rule, not to hit women. You just trying to be a tough-guy?"

Thieving shrugged, producing a silver lighter. He flicked the cap off, let the tongue of fire lick his cigar. "I like 'em too much to hurt 'em."

Kallen put her hands on her hips, bristling. "And what if you're life depends on hurting a girl one day?"

He breathed out smoke. "Guess that day I'll be screwed." Then he looked up and swivelled his torso, casting around with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. "Where's Zealous, anyway?"

"I don't know," she crossed her arms. "I thought he was ahead of me."

"Fool is always late…" Thieving said with a snort and a amused shake of his head.

"So I noticed." She turned away from him with her crossed arms and brutal stare aimed down the gravel road. A short amount of time passed in this way, Thieving slouching insouciantly against the grille of their truck and Kallen rigidly posed with deep reservations percolating in her mind.

Presently there came an airborne roar echoing over the mountainside, and Zealous' black Knightmare shot over a nearby rise, angling smoothly in towards them at great speed. It came down the length of the gravel road, kicking up showers of dust and pebbles, then braked to a quick halt just above the truck. Thieving craned his neck up at the floating Knightmare, gave a cursory wave with his cigar, and turned away. The red sensor eyes leered down as the Knightmare sank slowly inside the truck, disappearing from view.

As the muffled whine from within the truck powered down, Thieving lifted from where he sat and sprang up the ladder to the truck's cabin. He called to her, "You riding up front or in your frame?"

She considered for a moment. Then she heard a scraping of motion from above. Zealous had climbed on top of the truck and was now leaping the distance to the cabin. He slid down onto the hood, looked over at her, and gave a jaunty wave. Thieving leaned over and the two of them exchanged a lengthy, solemn handshake which began with fist-pounding, and culminated in finger waggling.

A long drive with these fools?

"I'll be in the Guren," she stalked around to the back, boarded the ramp, stood for a moment evaluating Zealous' hunched Knightmare, now that she was up close. Then she clambered up into the Guren S.E.I.T.E.N. and closed the cockpit. She hung in the darkened space. Maybe at least now she could get some sleep.

The drive was a long one, on the order of several hours, and by the end she had managed to make up most of her lost sleep. She was finally awakened by Thieving pounding irritatingly on the Guren's hull. They had come to a warehouse in Chiba city, on the waterfront, nestled among blocks and blocks of other such warehouses. Totally nondescript. Thieving had rented it from a guy who knew a guy he knew, or something.

Zealous had already stowed his Knightmare in the darkness of the warehouse, hooked up to an energy filler. There was another filler there for the Guren, not up to her usual grade but serviceable. While she piloted the Guren down the ramp and over next to Zealous' frame, Thieving explained a few things, calling up to her open cockpit as he strolled around beneath. They were going to wait for a week or two in Chiba city, in a waterfront hotel C.C. had paid for. A small team of technicians was coming down to perform a hefty refit of Zealous' frame, engineers from one of the famed Indian design enclaves. While they were there Guren would be stored elsewhere, because it was such a distinctive design. It was even possible some of the techs had helped to build it, as part of Rakshata's team.

Anyway, these Indian techs would be paid well out of C.C.'s deep pockets and once they were finished with Zealous' frame, everything would be ready. Both Knightmares would be sneakily loaded on one of those brand new cargo airships, along with C.C., Kallen, Zealous and Thieving, and would go over the ocean to Britannia, where things would become interesting.

Through the whole explanation Thieving never mentioned Lelouch, or even another backer of the operation. Apparently he hadn't even revealed himself to them while in disguise. Kallen wondered exactly what was going to happen in regards to that.

After Thieving had gone she stood for a long while pondering these things, below the dim fluorescent lights of the hangar, staring at the Guren. Presently she heard footsteps behind her, and half turned, hoping to see C.C. and get some answers. But the person approaching was Zealous Shad, in a black and grey pilot's jumpsuit. He came to stand beside her and nodded in greeting.

"Nice frame--" he began.

"Why the _hell_ did you attack me?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Had to make it look good, you know. Besides, I wanted to see what you were made of."

"I could have killed you if I wasn't careful," she said, truthfully. "You shouldn't have tempted me."

"I know," he said quietly, crossed his arms. In the low light of the warehouse he was all in black-and-white, his face waxy and pale, and his eyes sunken into shadow.

"Where'd you go, anyway? I lost you. Had to find the meeting place based on the coordinates." she said accusingly.

He looked over at her with a slightly tentative frown. "I didn't go anywhere. You passed me. You didn't notice?"

"I was distracted." then she could not help but smile in a bit of triumph. "I passed you?"

"Like a bat out of hell," he said with a reluctant nod. "No way I could keep up." He grimaced and scratched at his cheek. "You know, I'm secure enough to admit this: your Knightmare makes mine look like a wooden catapult."

"Uh-huh," she nodded. "Well maybe after this refit Thieving was talking about, it'll be more like a metal catapult."

He shot her a pained look and she laughed at him. There was a long silence as she continued to be amused by this. Then Zealous shook his head with a sigh and turned back to look at the mecha.

He crossed his arms and strolled over to the foot of his Knightmare. As he went, he called over his shoulder, inexplicably: "Are you a samurai?"

Kallen snorted in annoyance. "What the hell? Just because I'm Japanese doesn't mean--" She followed him angrily.

"That's not what I meant," said Zealous. He seemed to be inspecting the legs of his frame, poking his fingers into cracks here and there in the armour. "I just want to know what kind of soldier you are. Since we're going to be fighting together."

"What kind of soldier?" she raised an eyebrow at the back of his head. "I'm… well… I've seen a lot of combat. Probably more than you. What do you mean 'kind of soldier'?."

Zealous reached up, dug his fingers into the knee-joint, and started climbing up the leg of his Knightmare. When he reached the hip area, he hung off, turned to look down at her, and said: "There's two main kinds. Those who understand war, and those who don't." Then he craned his neck, reached up, and clambered onto the frame's chest.

Kallen immediately said, with a scoff, "I understand war. I've seen so much of it. I understand it perfectly."

Zealous looked down in apparent surprise, an expression that turned slowly into evaluation. "Maybe," he said, and swung up to sit on the Knightmare's left shoulder. "Maybe you only think you do." He grinned maddeningly down at her.

Well then. She was tired of looking up at Zealous. She climbed onto the Guren's silver arm, heaving herself up until her fingers dug into a ridge on its shoulder, and swung a leg over to sit there, facing Zealous opposite on the other Knightmare. He watched calmly.

"Explain," she said, and leaned back against shoulder fin.

Zealous turned to face her, crossing his legs with his back against the black frame's head. He said: "Those who understand war understand two things: their enemy, and death." He raised a pale hand with two fingers held upright, an incongruent peace sign. "Those who don't understand war are always certain that they do, until they think about these two things."

"I understand my enemies," Kallen said instantly. "And I understand death."

"Maybe," said Zealous again. His knee unfolded and bent, an elbow came down upon it, and his fist went up under his chin. He stared out at her with his eyes masked in darkness. "Let's start with the enemy." He gestured for her to speak, then waited.

She gathered her thoughts for a moment. "Well… my enemy was always Britannia. When we were fighting them I had to come to an understanding: the peace they offered meant enslavement, subjugation. It was difficult to come to the realization that fighting and killing was better than submitting. Britannians have a feeling than they're superior than everybody else just because of where they're born. They see other races as lesser." She shrugged. "I told you, I understand them. I'm half Britannian. I've seen that side."

But Zealous was smiling in cold triumph. "Wrong. All wrong. You understand them from _your_ side. To truly understand your enemy, all you have to do is realize they're exactly the _same as you are_."

Kallen stared for a moment with a slight frown. Then she scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Come on… I mean… _look_ at Britannia! At what they've done. The massacres. The racism. I'm not like that."

"No?"

"No. They are _not_ the same as us. We fight--_fought_ them because of the evil things they did."

"Uh-huh." He looked away, seemingly not interested anymore. "Wrong. They are exactly the same as you."

"Don't make me come over there," she said in warning, hunching towards him on the Guren's shoulder. "Prove it. How are they the same as us?"

Zealous shrugged, leaned back again. He pursed his lips and cocked his head. "Let's say…for example… that you were born full-blooded Britannian. In Britannia." He grinned. "Or--even better--what if you never knew that one of your parents was Japanese? You don't _look _Japanese. If you were born in Britannia with just your Britannian parent… what then?"

Kallen hesitated. "I wasn't… that doesn't matter…"

"Sure it does. You'd be a Britannian knight, wouldn't you?" Zealous goaded. "You might even be a Knight of the Round. You would be just as positive that you weren't anything like the Japanese with their terrorism. You might have killed dozens of Japanese by now. Only difference is that you've killed dozens of Britannians."

"No," she said stubbornly, glaring at him.

"So that's the first one. Understanding that your enemy and you are the same. That requires careful consideration." He moved on, ignoring her protest. "Next: death. This is why I asked if you were a samurai." She scowled angrily at him but he pretended not to notice. He smiled darkly at her. "So, Kallen Kozuki, are you prepared to die?"

Kallen blinked at Zealous, slowly. She said, blandly. "Of course. How many times do you think I've faced death on the battlefield? Of course I've been ready to die." She shifted uncomfortably. "That's not something soldiers usually need to talk about."

"Sure it is," he growled. "Because usually we don't mean it." He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. "You know, I read an article in a newspaper a long time ago. It was about a girl who had just joined the army. Infantry division. Eighteen years old. Killed in action. The paper did a story on her family and how they were reacting. You know," said Zealous, cracking his knuckles one by one, "She only wanted to go over and fight for one tour of duty. Just to see what it was like. Wanted to do something exciting in her life and then come home, you see. After the tour she was going to come home and maybe start a business, have a family, that kind of thing.

"She was killed her first day there, by a roadside bomb. She hadn't seen any combat."

Zealous waited. Kallen stared unemotionally at him. He went on: "Do you understand? To me, what was striking was that she did not understand war. She had no business being there, regardless of her training. There _is_ no 'after the tour'. There's no 'after the war'. A real soldier is dead already. Everyone else is just playing war."

Kallen said sombrely, "I've seen the type of soldiers you mean. People just coming in, wanting training, not seeing what it's all about. They want to be heroes or whatever."

"Then you _do_ know what I mean," Zealous nodded, leaning towards her with a grin at their mutual understanding. "There are _so many_ like that. Most, even. They don't get that to go to war properly you have to expect death. You have to believe in its inevitability. To fight is to be already dead. Even to _live_ is to be already dead."

Kallen raised an eyebrow at him. "Already dead?"

"Sure. That's what the samurai understood. You ever read anything about them? In school or whatever?"

She shrugged. "A little. About their history. Not much about what they believed in…I only started taking Japanese history this semester."

Zealous nodded. "It's hard to find real Japanese history. But in China I found a few things about the samurai. They say the greatest warrior is the one utterly prepared to die at any moment."

"I am," Kallen said cursorily. "I've already faced it many times."

"At _any_ moment," Zealous repeated, doubtfully.

"I already told you--"

"How about right now?" he said quietly.

"Now?" she snorted.

"Yeah. 'Now' is a moment, I think." he grinned at her.

"We're not even in combat. If I'm going to die, it better be on the battlefield," Kallen said and rolled her eyes.

"Ah," he said and nodded several times. He crossed his arms. "So if we had a battle to the death right here and now you'd be fine with dying?"

She snorted at the audacity. "I would kill _you_."

Now, suddenly, he snapped his fingers and pointed at her, grinning as if to say 'gotcha' or another irritating thing. "And when you're fighting," he said, "you think to yourself, 'I'm going to win this fight'. Don't you?"

"Of course," she leered at him. "I always win."

"But you're still prepared to die?"

She threw up her hands in disbelief. "I already said--"

"All right, all right," he waved her exasperation aside. "I get it. I understand. You're one of those soldiers who is prepared to die in the _future_. Like most."

"The future?" she was beginning to get exasperated with him.

"Yeah. You'll die in combat _someday_. In some hypothetical situation. When you have to sacrifice your life for a comrade maybe, or face a powerful Knightmare nobody's ever seen before. Not today. Not right now. Not on a roadside bomb or a car-crash. You're one of those who is willing to die _later_." he snorted in amusement. "Procrastinator."

"I'm seriously about to come over there and beat you," she got up on a knee, glaring at him.

Zealous just laughed and lounged back, a leg swinging off the side of his Knightmare. "It's easy to die in the future," he explained. "Because it never arrives. The future always stays the future. And Death is always a respectable distance of time from the present. But sooner or later, you'll have to die _right now_. Because all things, when they happen, happen in the present."

Kallen considered this for a moment, then said, a bitter anger rising in her, "You're a bastard. You think I don't understand death, and enemies? What do you know about those things? I've had to face the deaths of countless friends. I've believed that _I_ was going to die. I've seen friends turn into enemies, and--and enemies into friends, until I didn't _know_ anymore which side I was supposed to be on." Her voice was hoarse with rage. "I _get_ it, okay? I _know_ what you're saying. All of it. And I've _tried_ to find something hopeful in it all, but maybe there just isn't anything." She sucked in a quick, angry breath, "so--so excuse me if I don't want to believe that were all _already dead_ or whatever. Or that I'm just as bad a person as my enemies are.

"And don't _ever _again try to tell me that I don't understand war, and death, and enemies. I don't think anybody really understands those things but I'm closer than most to it." She was yelling at him. "You think _you_ understand!?"

The warehouse rang with her shouts, echoes fading to dull silence. Zealous sat unmoving with a sad smile on his face. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe not." he shifted his shoulders against the head of his Knightmare. "I'm always trying to get closer to understanding it." He raised his chin at her. "I'm sorry to upset you. I think you know this all as much as anyone does." Zealous went up onto his knees and stared over the edge of his knightmare. "I think I understand you better now. Thanks for the chat."

Kallen glared at him.

As he swung over and began to climb down the knightmare, he paused for a moment and looked at her. There was an deep gravity in his stare. "With your help," said Zealous, "we might even succeed."

* * *

Hi everybody. Thanks for the continued support and words of encouragement. With this chapter I decided to include some "notes" at the bottom of the page here, that you can read if you choose to do so.

The reason for this is that I've included a few details in the story that are probably going unnoticed by most people. These details mostly have to do with the alternate timeline that the Code Geass story inhabits.

I'll explain, for those who don't know (you can also read up at the Code Geass wikipedia page or endlessly useful Code Geass Wiki)

In the Code Geass timeline, Julius Caesar and his Roman army were defeated by the Celtic King Eowyn when they tried to invade Britain. Modern day Britannia comes out of Eowyn's victory and he is officially the first King of Britannia.

Britannia went on to conquer the Americas just as real life Britain did: however, in the Code Geass timeline, the American Revolution was a failure and Britannian rule solidified over the colonies. (in this alternate history, Benjamin Franklin was bribed by the Britannians and was made a Britannian Earl)

Some time after that, Napolean Bonaparte actually succeeded in taking over London, and England basically became part of France. So the seat of Britannian power was moved from London to Pendragon in "America" and Britannia basically became the entire West as we call it.

Thus, ironically, England is not part of Britannia anymore, instead being part of the EU which is sporadically at war with Britannia.

Probably the most important thing about this is that all influence of the U.S.A. on history has vanished from the Code Geass version. So there is no such thing as a nuclear bomb.

Now that this alternate timeline has been explained I can move on to some chapter by chapter notes. Feel free to stop reading if you get bored, this isn't that crucially important. But it is interesting!

Not much to say about chapter one and two. Perceptive readers might have wondered even then if Weinberg and Gino Weinberg are related.

Chapter Three:

a couple little details that might have gone unnoticed: In order to get from Shanghai to Vladivostok, Zealous and Thieving move through three different time zones: Chinese time, Japanese time, and something the Russians call Vladivostok time. Vladivostok time (VLAT as Zealous refers to it) is an hour different from Japanese time even though the city is directly north of Japan.

Their client, the 'Independant State of Primorsky Krai' is based on the real life Primorsky Krai, which is the province that Vladivostok is capitol of. ('Krai' being the Russian equivalent of a 'State' or 'Province') This story assumes that Russia has fragmented into multiple different independant states.

The depiction of Vladivostok as full of factories is pretty much factual. Apparently some parts of the city are so polluted from industry that it's classified as hazardous to live in them.

Nothing really to say about chapter four...

Chapter Five:

This is probably the biggest chapter for hidden details. The hotel that they meet C.C. at, the ANA, Gloverhill, is a real hotel in Nagasaki. In describing the lobby and the restaurant I looked at photos of the place online. The cushion-chairs that Zealous finds strange are based on a real photo of the restaurant (which you can look up pretty easily on google if you want) I'm not sure if such chairs are common in Japan...so if anyone knows I'd love to be enlightened.

The conversation that Zealous and Thieving have on the balcony serves no real purpose other than to remind people of the alternate timeline. They muse that Nagasaki has never been attacked by anybody (as opposed to real history in which it was nuked).

Urakami Cathedral: The christian cathedral Z and T visit is actually the place where the nuclear bomb fell on Nagasaki in real life. The bomb fell only 500 feet from the cathedral and obliterated it. In 1959 Urakami (also known as St. Mary's Cathedral) was rebuilt, but Zealous makes note of the fact that the cathedral had (in Code Geass timeline) been untouched since the late 1800s.

When they're talking Knightmare Frames: the Vincent, which is guarding Aries Palace, is the same mecha piloted by Rollo Lamperouge when he first appears.

When Thieving says, "The Shen-Hu, eh? Maybe we could--" ...Here he's referring to the Knightmare piloted by Li Xing-ke (the Chinese guy with the long black hair who coughs blood, in case you don't know who I mean) Thieving implies that he is familiar with the Shen-Hu, which makes sense considering he and Zealous live in China.

Chapter Six:

Now would be a good time to point out that I'm naming most of my Britannian characters and locations after Celtic and Welsh things, and also drawing heavily on Arthurian legend (in line with the prior Code Geass Britannian naming conventions.

When Trevain congratulates Weinberg on his son being appointed knight of one, he's talking of course about the Gino Weinberg who we all know and love. Frederick Weinberg, the father, is a new character but is based on something on Code Geass Wiki: apparently Gino left home in his youth. He was in love with his family's Japanese maid, and when his father found out about it he beat the girl and fired her. Frederick Weinberg is based on this.

Chapter Seven:

ehhh.. not too much happening here that needs explanation. The split-face thing that Zealous and Thieving do is based on real psychological theory. You can look it up.

Chapter Eight:

The Japanese History thing that Kallen recites in class is a bit of real history, hastily looked up. Tokugawa Ieyasu in particular is a famous shogun and founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate.

Chapter Nine:

when Sayoko calls Suzaku 'handsome', this is according to the 'Sayoko's Diary' thing which apparently came with the DVDs of the show. In the first season, Sayoko is apparently infatuated with Suzaku. heres a humourous quote from Code Geass Wiki: "When Sayoko hears Suzaku's voice with Lelouch, she tries to call him, but overhears them saying that they should not been seen together, so that nobody will know about their relationship. Sayoko thinks that Suzaku is romantically involved with Lelouch, which completely devastates her. "

Tintagel and the 'Shalott Memorial Shopping Centre' are both named for Arthurian legends. There's a poem called The Lady of Shalott in which a woman falls in love with Lancelot from afar, but is cursed or some such thing and eventually dies.

It's also worth noting that when Suzaku is thinking about FLEIJA power, this parallels the controversy surrounding nuclear power. FLEIJA serve the same purpose as nukes in the show really, and of course there is no nuclear technology in Code Geass. Interestingly, Nina's full name (who invented the FLEIJA) is Nina Einstein.

Chapter 10: (the chapter above)

not much to say here. Zealous' death argument is based on samurai ideology as he states. Oh! and I almost forgot. the story he tells about the female soldier is based loosely on a story I read in the paper, of Canadian soldier Karine Blais, 21 years old, who died in her first two weeks in Afganistan due to an IED.

The title of Chapter 10 "The Soldier Side" is taken from the System of a Down Song by the same name.

That's about it! If you have had the patience to slog through all these notes, I commend you. I hope they've been interesting and helpful. Let me know if I should continue to write out notes every few chapters or whatever. And I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

JDCT


	11. Behind the Mask

The dark made promises and outlined plans. Suzaku could not hear it, he was covering his ears and humming. And closing his eyes; the combination felt good, a sort of static that deprived him of his senses. A humming in the blackness; that was it! It was a sort of buzz, a buzzing darkness, wasn't it? But though he was ignoring the dark right now, it occurred to Suzaku that it might be saying something worthwhile, so he opened his eyes and began to listen.

He still could not hear what the dark was saying, really. Because now it seemed that the humming had been all of it, that was all. Suzaku hadn't been humming, the dark thought had. When he opened his eyes he realized he was floating in a place full of stars. It was warm. Maybe he was falling. But there were stars, everywhere, all around him.

"I'm trying to get some sleep," he told them. "Leave me alone."

It was irritating, actually. Every time he closed his eyes he felt restless, wondering about all those stars. They were busy out there. He couldn't sleep, disturbed by them. They were too bright, too complicated. The stars thought too much. They were too much worried and calculating. He just wanted to sleep and they were keeping him up.

But the humming of the dark had a plan, maybe. An ingenious idea. So simple. An elegant, terrifying solution.

Suzaku watched the stars die.

One after another. They didn't explode, go red giant and then erupt into supernovas, no. They just vanished, expired, blinked out of existence. Like blowing out a candle. One after another. The stars went out.

It didn't take long. Soon in all the sky there was only one star left. And when it was gone Suzaku found his sleep.

"Suzaku."

He startled as he came awake, blinking around. He was in the back seat of a late model road-car, a luxury vehicle they'd picked up from Jeremiah's villa and fitted with some new plates. Suzaku shifted on the black leather seat, masking a huge yawn. It was night time, they had been waiting here for hours.

Jeremiah was in the driver's seat, leaning around it to stare at Suzaku. The dashboard lights shone greenish on his pale skin and made his hair glow: "Sayoko radioed, they are ready for us inside. Did you sleep well?"

"I had a strange dream. The stars disappeared." Suzaku scratched sleepily in his hair.

Jeremiah snorted and looked amused. "Troubling. Not to worry, though," his eyes lifted to the roof of the car and a finger poked upwards. "They're still there, if you'd like to check."

Suzaku said nothing.

Jeremiah sighed deeply, heaving his door open and standing up into the evening chill. After a moment's contemplation Suzaku followed suit. He thudded his door closed and leaned against it, stretching his cramped legs. They were wearing the gilded black livery of Grand Duke Weinberg's household servants. Sayoko's contact in the mansion, a Japanese woman, had procured the uniforms for them.

Suzaku's breath hung on the cold air as he exhaled to calm himself. He took a look across the canal, where at the front of the mansion limousines were crowded next to each other, each fighting for the space to drop off an ostentatiously dressed, haughtily posturing guest or two. These were received at the front doors by others in the same black and gold coats and trousers that Jeremiah and Suzaku now wore. Strict guest lists were referred to, the attendees admitted through Weinberg's vaulting gothic-revival doors. From within the mansion, a faint wavering of chamber music could be heard, dimly across the black windblown waters of the canal.

Jeremiah reached up to straighten his lapels, then looked across the roof of the car at Suzaku. "Shall we?"

Suzaku nodded in response.

They turned right and walked a short way down the path which lined the canal. They crossed over an arching brick footbridge without having seen any other pedestrians; this district of Tintagel was on the exclusive side, most of it owned by Weinberg himself. And the stars danced busily on the black waves below the bridge. Suzaku frowned down at them. He did not bother looking up at the sky.

Reaching the other side of the canal, they turned left and made for the mansion itself. This was a sprawling affair. They saw the extensive grounds behind the building, about ten acres of carefully cultivated natural landscape, walled off behind grey brick. The sides of the villa were lined with evenly spaced fir trees. Suzaku wondered whether these had been planted fully grown (the expensive way, of the newly wealthy or impatient) or planted as saplings and cultivated. But Frederick Weinberg's family was old and not merely rich; so it seemed likely that these trees had been growing here since the days of his ancestors. They had seen many things.

They entered the mansion through a large supply door on its nearest side. As they approached, Suzaku looked up warily at what he recognized as a tiny security camera nestled into the wall above the door.

Jeremiah saw his concern: "Not to worry. Sayoko will have disabled it already, else she would not have radioed us."

They stood awkwardly at the door. Jeremiah flourished his right arm to clear the sleeve from his wrist. Then he removed an immaculate white glove, extended the bare knuckle, and rapped on the door. They waited, Jeremiah sending Suzaku periodic winks to reassure him. Or maybe the man was merely blinking; with his other eye cybernetically replaced, and covered in bandages, it was difficult to tell the difference.

But soon the door was hauled open, by a young woman in a white apron over what was apparently a cook's uniform. She was Japanese, small of stature. She looked back and forth between Jeremiah and Suzaku, then, suddenly, her mouth blossomed into a wide smile.

She led them inside, through a labyrinth of kitchens which resounded with hollering, sizzling and hissing. Food was being prepared, the likes of which festooned each such party that Suzaku had been to as Zero. He recognized all the most common delicacies; here were the trays of miniscule blocks of cheese each aged a certain number of months in a certain climate, there were the tiger shrimp arrayed about a cauldron of dip. He had not been hungry before entering the kitchen but he now was. The legion of cooks sweated and shouted at each other as they feverishly stirred, chopped, tossed. Most of those working in the kitchen were not Britannian. The floor tiles were slick with the humidity and strewn with waste.

She led them out, through a narrow door into a wide hallway, the lights dimmed. The garish white tile and cacophony of the kitchens was shut up behind the door, a particularly elegant piece of rosewood with the word 'Services' engraved into it. The Japanese woman gave a final impish grin at them and disappeared back into the kitchen, locking the door behind her. They were alone with the sudden darkness and silence, viewing the façade of plush ostentation with a fresh memory of what would normally have been kept from their eyes, and what the guests of Lord Weinberg's party would never see.

Jeremiah and Suzaku waited for a moment facing each other across the hallway. Then the both of them turned at a soft noise to their right, of shoes sliding over carpet. If it was Sayoko, Suzaku knew, she was intentionally making her footsteps loud enough to be heard. The figure approached them, meandering, stopping here and there to flail a feathered duster at the picture frames along the wall. Then she stepped forward , clasped her hands with the duster before her, and bowed slightly with a faint smile.

Sayoko said, "Shall I show you to the room, sirs?"

"Don't overdo it," Jeremiah rumbled.

Suzaku raised an eyebrow. "I haven't seen you dressed as a maid in a long time."

She just smiled and bowed again.

On the floor above them, in a hallway with better lighting, they found the room. It was guarded by two men wearing precisely the same uniforms that Jeremiah and Suzaku wore. Once these men were unconscious, they were dragged inside the room. Sayoko gave them tranquilizing injections and stashed them in the pristine bathroom, and very shortly Suzaku and Jeremiah were standing guard in their place outside the room.

They waited for what seemed like a long time, saying nothing to each other. Then Jeremiah turned with a slight smile. "You might be too hairy."

Suzaku looked at him mutely.

Jeremiah went on: "It's unlikely that Weinberg allows his servants to grow facial hair."

"And how about gigantic facial bandages?" Suzaku said.

Jeremiah's broad shoulders shrugged slightly. "We may be pushing our luck."

Suzaku smiled faintly, straightened his shoulders, and looked forwards with his hands clasped behind his back. They waited in this manner for some time before the ones they were expecting arrived.

Around the corner at the end of the hallway came Zero, flanked by two soldiers in black Britannian fatigues and body armour. His soldiers wore a red shoulder patch that Suzaku recognized as the unit designation for Zero's personal bodyguard. Zero came before the guards, tall with the tails of his cape floating over the plush carpet.

He stood before them, looked first to Jeremiah and then to Suzaku. His invisible stare hovered over them until Suzaku's teeth clenched in discomfort.

Jeremiah spoke graciously, not allowing time for a critique of their appearance: "Welcome, Lord Zero. Here is the room that Grand Duke Weinberg has prepared for your visit. We hope you enjoy your stay." He smiled and bowed his head. Suzaku did the same, but said nothing.

Zero spoke: "You have my thanks. I will personally relay my gratitude to the Grand Duke when I meet him later in the evening."

The voice was Lelouch's.

Suzaku's teeth ground painfully on each other. It was his voice, his style of speaking. Even the poise of the figure in black was theatrical, calculated--just like Lelouch. Who _was_ this guy?

Jeremiah said, "I believe they will be serving the champagne and hors-d'oeuvres at any moment. Would you care to freshen up for the party?" He bowed slightly, stood aside, and levelled a hand palm up at the door.

" I will, thank you," Zero politely returned the bow.

Zero stepped into the room, his bodyguards following silently. Jeremiah and Suzaku stepped in behind them, already reaching into their coats. They each produced a small silenced handgun from armpit holsters and took aim. The pistols went off with a double snap and Zero's bodyguards fell into tranquilized sleep. This had been on Suzaku's insistence--Sayoko had recommended killing the guards.

Zero looked from one fallen man to the other; if he was surprised or made nervous by the new turn of events he was not showing it. Sayoko, still wearing her maid's costume, rose from behind the sofa and aimed a sidearm in two hands. "The cameras and mics are disabled. No one is watching," she said politely.

Zero's helmet tilted and he slowly looked over his shoulder at Suzaku. Jeremiah closed and locked the door to the hallway and smiled grimly. Zero said, calmly, "What is going on?"

Jeremiah answered. "Treason, on your part. Retribution, on ours."

"You are mistaken. The treason is yours. To assault Zero is to assault Britannia."

Suzaku circled about Zero with his gun drawn but not aimed, watching the exchange. The voice unnerved him. And the effortless confidence of the figure in black. Just like Lelouch.

But Jeremiah only smiled. "Exactly. Therefore, _you_ are engaged in treason. The man standing there is the real Zero, or do you not recognize him?"

Zero turned calmly, stared at Suzaku from behind the helmet. After a long moment of consideration, he said, "_I _am Zero. I don't know what you're talking about. I have always been Zero."

Jeremiah scoffed. "This is pointless."

On cue, Sayoko closed the distance between herself and Zero. He whirled but not nearly fast enough; Sayoko grappled him into a fluid Aikido throw and he hit the carpeted floor hard. On his back, Zero scrambled to retreat but Sayoko was already on him. Her black skirt flared as her knee drove down on his chest, and a slim hand shot down to clamp over Zero's throat. The faintest of choking sounds emerged from within the helmet.

Now they would have their answers.

Suzaku instinctively stooped with his fingers groping, seeking the secret catch at the helmet's back. He found it, depressed it, and Sayoko did the rest. Her other hand fastened over helmet's crest and drew it up and off. She tossed it aside with a muffled clatter on the carpet.

Suzaku stared in astonishment.

The girl under the mask had to be about seventeen years of age. Her face was pale and smooth and dainty, the black fabric mask pulled up over her nose, and under wide turquoise eyes. Her hair was black and cropped short. Her cheeks were flushed in anger as she stared up at Sayoko with pale defiance.

"What the devil…" muttered Jeremiah as he stepped forwards and leaned over the now unmasked girl. Then, "Who are you?"

For a moment her eyes showed a bewildered frown as she stared up at him. She struggled against Sayoko for a moment, uselessly. Then she said, in a thin, female voice totally unlike what they'd heard so far: "I am _Zero_."

Jeremiah scoffed. He raised his gun and Suzaku jumped in surprise as the silenced shot went off. The girl yelped in pain and writhed uncomfortably, the tranquilizing cylinder digging into her bare neck (so as not to damage the Zero costume, Suzaku knew). A single trickle of blood ran down from the wound, and then her eyes were already fluttering helplessly. Then they closed, and her head slumped aside, and she fell into total stillness.

There was a pause. Then Sayoko said, "That was unexpected," and stood from the prostrate girl.

Jeremiah holstered his gun and stepped back with his arms crossed. "Curious that she should continue to call herself Zero, even after we unmasked her…"

Suzaku did not add to the dialogue, standing in silence, watching the sleeping young face. He was startled out of his reverie by Jeremiah, who clapped him on the shoulder and spoke. "We're short on time. We'll undress her while you write the letter. Probably better if it's in your handwriting. Remember what it's supposed to say?"

Suzaku nodded mutely and turned away. He sat in a cushioned chair at the room's desk. There was a stack of note paper on the desk, an expensive ballpoint pen, and envelopes in a little wooden drawer, all as predicted. If the room had not been furnished with such things he would simply have used those that he'd brought with him. But the ruse was more effective if the letter were written on Lord Weinberg's own stationery with his own pen and in his own envelope.

He set a sheet of paper on the dark wood of the desk and paused in thought, tapping his jaw line with the end of the pen. Then he began quickly to write by the yellow lamp on the desk, glancing periodically over his shoulder to gauge the others' progress.

When he had finished writing he folded the paper two times and slid it into an envelope. Then (very important) he licked the seal and closed it. He flipped the envelope over onto the table and stared down at it. On the front of the envelope, in large cursive letters, he wrote: _Schniezel el Britannia_.

Then he got up from the desk and nodded to Jeremiah.

They had laid the girl on the room's bulbous leather couch, in her white undergarments. The Zero costume was on the coffee table adjacent, ready for him. Suzaku approached and handed Jeremiah the letter he'd written. Then he stared for a long while at the array of black clothing. He'd come to understand something about Lelouch, in his time wearing the costume, how easy it was to simply become Zero. There were times inside that helmet that he literally _had_ forgotten who he was. Sometimes he would hear the name Suzaku Kururugi mentioned by someone, and would feel only peripheral recognition, a knowledge of who Suzaku had been, his attributes and contributions, his history before his death. Not a personal familiarity with the name.

He could still feel that namelessness. Looking down at the helmet, he could remember that there were times he had felt the punishment he'd wanted. It was true he'd forgotten what it was like to be Zero. It was being someone else, some _thing_, not human. It ceased to even be acting. When the mask was on one could simply stop being who they had been and instead be Zero, this other thing. This nothing. One could lose themselves in the mask, the symbol.

Suzaku looked slowly over at the unconscious girl. Then he bent to pick up the helmet, stared down at it in his hands. His teeth ground hard on one another. Then Sayoko was before him, ready to help him dress himself as Zero once more.

When it was finished, he left the room alone. Descended plush stairways with his cape trailing behind him. Servants and nobles alike bowed to him as he made his way to the ballroom.

Zero strode between the arching marble pillars and into Weinberg's party. The stretch of shimmering wooden floor was covered with people, many of whom took immediate notice of him. Some gave him smiles, some dirty looks. Some looks of awe or curiosity from the ones who had never seen Zero before. Behind the mask his eyes could dart to and fro, never revealed by the tilt of his head. He could look into the eyes of the ones who watched him, yet they could never see his.

A string quartet was playing on a platform across the room. Staircases swept down elegantly from upper levels. Glittering chandeliers hung heavily from the ceiling. Some of the guests were dancing already, most mingling and drinking. The most famous and important of them were surrounded by scrums of lesser Britannians each jostling for a chance to be noticed; pretending to be part of the conversation, laughing when the others laughed, nodding when the others nodded. Very soon Zero would have his own crowd of bootlickers, he knew from experience.

Zero did not like the nobility.

He identified Weinberg and began to excuse himself through the party towards the man. He moved without hurry, attempting to emulate the commanding grace that the girl had been able to pull off. It came naturally, he found. Zero had a way of walking which Suzaku Kururugi did not.

He approached Weinberg, pushing easily through the crowd about him. In the inner circle were several of his closest confidants and bodyguards. Zero recognized one as Baron Urien Trevain, a quickly rising star amoung Britannian nobles. At the time that Zero had been imprisoned, Trevain was little-known. Now it seemed he curried a large amount of favour with the Grand Duke.

Trevain pleasantly blinked his golden eyes and bowed at Zero. At a gesture from Weinberg, the bodyguards loomed forwards to move the other guests back, allowing a measure of privacy for Zero, the Grand Duke, and Trevain. Zero was interested to note that Trevain was allowed to remain. he had indeed come a long way up the ladder.

"Lord Zero," Weinberg offered a curt bow. He levelled a hand at Trevain. "I believe you know the Baron."

"We've met. A pleasure, Baron Trevain," Zero offered a much slighter bow at each of the lords and then suddenly felt a hesitation. His own voice had emerged as the girl's had, making him sound exactly like Lelouch. A disturbing sensation. But he moved on smoothly. "I wanted to thank you personally for the room. Your accommodations are superb," then he added with some irony, "and your staff excellent."

Weinberg smiled. His blue eyes were Gino's, but the hair was black and severe, cropped short. His voice was rumbling. "I am pleased to please you, as always, Lord Zero. I hope you enjoy the party."

"I'm sure I will. Now I must excuse myself," Zero bowed out of the conversation and pushed back into the crowd as Weinberg turned to Trevain.

* * *

Once Zero had moved off, Weinberg whispered closely, in Trevain's ear. "She performs as marvellously as usual. Have you yet told your men that I am pleased with their work on her?"

Trevain stared up into the cool eyes of the larger man. "I have. They are glad to be of service." Then he smiled. "Geass is passé. There is no height to which technology cannot take us."

"So it seems," Weinberg rocked back contemplatively and took a sip of brandy. Then he turned with the glass in hand, an index finger jabbing from it. "You know, Trevain, I would like to send my people in to have a look at your laboratories or whatnot. Your work in conditioning is quite beyond my scientists and they've been dying to know how your people do the things they do."

"Well now," Trevain said slyly, fully aware that he could only get away with this next comment because Weinberg was drunk. "If you knew my secret I wouldn't be very useful to you anymore, now would I?" And he laughed it off.

There came a dangerous pause, and then Weinberg's face contorted in mirth, and he gave a great booming laugh and the two of them moved on to other things.

* * *

Now Zero approached Prince Schniezel el Britannia. The First Prince was surrounded by people but unlike Weinberg and Trevain he seemed to be engaging pleasantly with them. Zero noted that among them were a large number of attractive young noblewomen. Schniezel was, of course, still unmarried, and charming and attractive and all those things. He was usually surrounded by a gaggle of such women, at parties like this.

The crowd parted reverently for Zero, as Schniezel looked up with unnatural pleasantness in his expression. His pale eyes twinkled as he smiled, stepping forward to greet Zero. The white-gloved hand went firmly into the black-gloved hand, shook once, and Schniezel clapped Zero affectionately on the shoulder.

Zero found himself smiling in return, though no one could see it. He and Schniezel had always got along well while he was Zero. Of course it was because Schniezel had been brainwashed to follow Zero's every whim, yet, still, it was difficult to keep this in mind. As Zero sometimes he had even felt that Schniezel was a friend. The First Prince was witty, pleasant, interesting--and now, perfectly loyal. Zero had always enjoyed interacting with Schniezel. It was impossible to think of him as a mere slave to Zero. He seemed so... intact. So undamaged. Yet the Geass was still there.

At least, Zero hoped it was. Otherwise this would be a disaster.

For now, however, Schniezel continued to involve the other guests in the conversation. Zero resolved to await a better opportunity. He stood by listening to the conversation, adding comments where appropriate.

Schniezel sipped champagne and said casually: "You were saying, my dear?"

A blushing noblewomen eased in closer. Schniezels pale eyes glimmered down upon her and she looked self-consciously away for a moment. "I, um. I was wondering if there had been any word from Princess Cornelia."

"Not for a long while," Schniezel briefly seemed pensive, then popped an olive in his mouth with a flourish. "Not since our dear sister Nunnally had her accident, at least." Then he turned to Zero and indicated him with a nod. "Just the other day Zero and I were discussing that, in fact."

Zero had, of course, not been present for the discussion Schniezel was referring to. He opted to nod knowingly and not say a thing. This worked and Schniezel went on: "In fact nobody knows where she is. Most mysterious. We have people looking for her." Schniezel lifted a white finger and posed it at his lips, leaned in confidentially. "Very secret, of course." And he grinned.

The women loved it. Started giggling, gloved hands to red lips. A genteel argument started amongst them about who should ask the First Prince to dance. But at that moment Zero's patience broke and he said: "A quick word with you, alone, actually?"

Schniezel nodded, waved his hand, and the crowd wafted away like smoke--to a respectable distance, where they waited anxiously for a signal to move back in. Schniezel turned to Zero. "Not a bad party. The Grand Duke buys good seafood and olives. The music, though," the Prince waved a hand negligently.

Zero shrugged. "Not to your liking?"

"The string quartet is an aged and dusty tradition," Schniezel complained. "For aged and dusty men. We've looked to the past for too long. Stagnation is part of Britannia's problem--we've talked of this long ago--"

"Yes," Zero nodded, smiling beneath the mask. They _had_ talked of it. Schniezel remembered.

Schniezel went on. "They should look to the future. Remember Duke Medoc's party? Last year?"

"Of course," Zero chortled.

"Electric strings," Schniezel said importantly, cocking a thumb back at the ensemble. "And those wild drummers from China. Nunnally loved them. He had Japanese food--sushi--for appetizers. He made a speech about the end of war and the beginning of understanding between all peoples." Now Schniezel's eyes were narrowed, troubled. "_Now_ where are the Duke Medocs?" He jutted his chin at the room in general. "He wasn't even invited, nor the others who think like him. Last year we were plotting eternal peace."

Schniezel's eyes swept coldly over the party. "_Now_ what are we plotting?"

Zero stared at him in astonishment. "Schniezel, I--"

"It's not that I doubt you, Lord Zero," Schniezel said warmly, taking another sip of champagne. "You know best, obviously. But do you really think supporting Weinberg's ideologies is a good idea? It's plain that he would rather have never abandoned the Areas. The sessions of the House, lately," Schniezel shrugged, "have been going to uncomfortable places."

"I know," Zero nodded sadly. "I know."

Schniezel cocked his head wanly. "You used to be committed to making the world the kind of place that Nunnally always wanted it to be. Free of war, violence, poverty. Was that all an act, only because she was the Empress? Now that she is incapacitated will we forget our old intentions?"

"No," said Zero, waving a hand in dismissal. "No. Something is happening here that I can't explain right now. No one can be trusted."

Schniezel's eyes slowly widened as his chin elevated. He smiled faintly. "Good," he said," and finished off his champagne. "Trusting people wearies me. Who has betrayed us this time?" There was a whip-like vigour in his voice.

"Can't speak of it," Zero said softly. "Here, listen." He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the letter he'd written earlier. Schniezel looked down at the envelope curiously, then back up to the mask.

"I am Zero," said Zero slowly. "Correct?"

"Of course."

"This letter," Zero gestured with it, "was written by me. This letter is in Zero's own writing. Got it?"

Schniezel shrugged, nodded. "Of course."

"Take it," Zero said, and Schniezel did so. "Keep it on your person, and out of sight." Schniezel nodded, took a clandestine look around, and stuffed the letter into an inside pocket of his white dinner-jacket.

"Read it alone, and let no one else see it," Zero said. "After you've read it, destroy it. And remember: I--Zero--wrote it!"

"I understand," Schniezel nodded and patted Zero's shoulder reassuringly. "I trust this will explain recent events?"

"It will. But do not speak of it again. Follow my instructions as I've given them to you."

"I will, Lord Zero," Schniezel offered a short bow. Then he smiled thinly. "And now on to better things. Let us invite the lovely ladies back." He beckoned to them, and with an instant flurry they fought their way over to the two men, pitch-black and snow-white.

* * *

Hours later, Zero knocked on the door to the upstairs room, was permitted entrance, and wearily lifted his mask from his face. Sayoko and Jeremiah had been in the middle of a card game at the room's coffee table, and now they were standing, holding weapons, gazing at him expectantly. The girl who had been Zero was still unconscious on the sofa.

"Well?" Jeremiah asked, crossing his arms. "Did you give him the letter?"

Suzaku lowered the mask to the table and sighed, slumping into a chair nearby. "Yes. He seems very cooperative. Looks like everything went according to plan."

Sayoko came to him and began unfastening the catch of his cape like a mother undressing her son. "Good. Now let's get out of here before our luck fails. Quick."

Suzaku stood and let her sweep the cape from his shoulders, then shrugged off the white scarf and unbuttoned the gilded purple jacket. They packed all of the Zero costume into an attaché case and put him back in Weinberg's colours.

Jeremiah paced the room as Suzaku was getting changed. Now he said: "One step is complete. We have Zero. Now we draw plans." And the Margrave grinned. Suzaku only nodded glumly and glanced out the window. The night had grown cloudy, and the stars were masked again.


	12. Destroyer and Creater of the World

They'd given it a paintjob, Zealous thought with distaste. Until recently his mech had been an imposing black, the colour of fear and night. Menacing. he'd liked it that way. But now, with the refit, these east-Indian techs had coloured it with a sky-blue motif. _Baby_-blue, almost. There were stripes of gunmetal grey down the arms, sure, and the factsphere still glowed red. But most of the frame was this airy blue colour.

He stood with his arms crossed in the centre of the warehouse, watching as the technicians disconnected their wires and hoses from the mech and finished up some final tests. C.C. was next to him, also observing. The girl pulled vibrant green hair over one shoulder and asked: "Are you satisfied?"

"Well," Zealous grimaced. "I haven't seen the final specifications, yet. But it's... it's _blue_."

C.C.'s yellow eyes turned coolly on him. "I hardly think colour should be the main issue here."

"It's," he winced in distaste. He could barely bring himself to say it. "It's _baby blue_, woman."

"Well," C.C. shrugged away his complaint. "Traditionally, blue signifies a masculine baby. Would you rather they'd painted it pink?"

Zealous scratched in his hair. "Well let me tell you, sky blue may be masculine, but it's not nearly as masculine as jet-black. When _I_ was born, the nurses gave me a jet-black blanket, to signify _badassery._" As if to emphasize the point, Zealous reached into his breast pocket and withdrew his aviators, setting them on his nose.

There was no suitable response for this. C.C. crossed her arms and solemnly turned aside.

Now the lead tech came over to them bearing as large binder full of paper. He began speaking rapidly in Hindi. Many of the best Indian engineers spoke no Britannian, almost as a point of pride. Zealous knew only the tiniest bit of Hindi but was almost fluent in Bengali. So once he had slowed the guy down a bit they could nearly understand each other.

The tech, whose name was Deepak, pushed the binder of info upon Zealous, who took it. Turned out to be a kind of owner's manual for the advancements they'd made to his mech. Deepak was going on and on about how they'd replaced the whole core and sakuradite systems of the original frame. To Zealous it sounded like he was saying they'd upgraded the 'circulatory system' and 'nipples', but to be fair he hadn't used his Bengali in years.

As Deepak explained, Zealous nodded politely and went over the specifications. He was troubled to learn that the new Knightmare didn't have any conventional weapons; no SMGs or rifles. The only weapon systems left over from before the refit were the slash-harkens, which had been re-tipped with some kind of modern molecular cutting system, it seemed.

Well, that shouldn't have been surprising. From his little skirmish against the Guren he had seen that regular firearms were no longer the standard for Knightmare combat. Maybe they'd given him a laser gun or something.

Deepak was getting excited about some new weapon that sounded like an 'overweight chauffeur' until Zealous came to that part of the manual (which was bilingual).

"Ah," Zealous turned grinning to C.C. "A mass-driver, he's calling it. Railgun. Very nice. Haven't seen one of these on a Knightmare before. Very powerful. Very difficult to dodge."

C.C. shrugged.

Zealous was glad to hear of the railgun. It was a weapon that ran large slugs of ammunition down an unrifled barrel, using rails of supermagnets instead of the usual EMP as a propellant. Thus the ammo was huge, probably 60-70mm in diameter, and destructive, and moved so quickly it arrived at its target almost instantaneously. The perfect anti-Knightmare weapon. Not to mention the fact that it fired physical ammo, a trait which Zealous found instantly endearing.

Deepak said that they had also given him an MVS, a single-edged straight sword, almost like an elongated ninjato. A part of Zealous was tickled by this touch; for being able to bisect enemy Knightmares with a two-handed blade almost made up for the lapse in coolness incurred by the colour.

Not only that, but there seemed to be some further usefulness pertaining to the sword; Deepak kept calling the weapon a '_Marut_', which was an unfamiliar word. Zealous was having difficulty understanding him, so he asked for clarification. The guy ripped the binder from Zealous' hands in frustration and started flipping through pages. Eventually he found what he wanted, thrust the page at Zealous, and tapped the specs with his calloused brown fingers.

C.C. was reading over Zealous' arm. "Storm Edge?"

"Hold on a sec," he read for a moment longer, then looked up at Deepak in wonder. "Seriously?"

The other man grinned widely.

The specifications said that the _Marut_ maser vibration sword had the ability to 'project' its edge through the air to a degree, via some kind of energy field Zealous had never heard of and would never understand. The result of this seemed to be that he could cut things without actually hitting them with the sword.

Zealous smirked down at the specs. He was starting to get excited about this. The range of the _Marut_ sword was untested, it said. Estimated at somewhere between thirty and forty meters depending on the charge left in the wielding Knightmare's Yggdrasil drive. The sword's energy could also function defensively, deploying as a shield to deflect incoming fire. This would be crucial in the fight against many opponents, Zealous knew.

The float device had also been given a slight refit--and repainted light blue, of course. He doubted he would be able to keep up with the Guren even now, but the new floats could (according to their specifications) break the speed of sound. They were at least as good as those on a Vincent, so he would probably be able to flee successfully, if necessary. Kallen would still leave him in her dust, but at least he'd be able to hold his own.

Now Zealous said, in Britannian: "I don't suppose it has a giant silver hand of radioactive death?"

Deepak couldn't understand him, of course. Dark eyebrows just raised, and then he went back to grinning and telling Zealous what a good investment he had made.

C.C. said impatiently, "Well?"

"It's good," Zealous nodded down at the binder in his hands. Then he flipped over to the first page and saw the name of the new Knightmare.

"_Shiva_," he muttered. "Well, that explains the colour."

C.C.'s eyebrows lifted curtly. "I suppose. But sometimes Shiva is white."

Zealous glanced up in surprise. He would not have guessed that a woman like her would know much about Hindu gods, of all things. He winked at her. "Though I suppose to really fit the image of Shiva they should have given it another two arms."

"Not all depictions of Shiva have four arms," C.C. said nonchalantly.

Zealous' eyes narrowed mischievously as he pursed his lips. "Then I guess Shiva _is_ a good name for it. They call him 'the Destroyer'. I like that."

One of C.C.'s shoulders shrugged negligently. "Not necessarily. Shiva both creates and destroys the world. Both a monk and a family man. He is full of contradiction. Besides, if they'd truly intended the Knightmare to be Shiva, they'd have given it a trident instead of a sword."

Now Zealous snorted in amusement. " I knew you must have a deep dark secret. Well! My fears are assuaged. Between my ability to sport sunglasses, and your extensive knowledge of world mythology, this mission cannot fail."

Finally another smile from her. Very faint, very cold. Like a bracing gust of winter. It vanished as quickly as it came. Her eyelids drooped sleepily again. But Zealous just kept on grinning.

* * *

All of them met together in the hotel in uptown Chiba that night, and another joined them.

Zealous and Thieving had occupied the leather sofa by the window. They were deeply engaged in a discussion about women they knew or had known in the past. Kallen was sitting in a chair at the suite's dining room, poring over a magazine and pretending not to listen to them. At least, Zealous assumed that she was pretending. He had never met a girl who could resist listening to guy talk when it was available.

At that moment, the door opened and C.C. walked in. Behind her came a young man Zealous had not met yet. He was slim and reasonably tall, his hair long and black. The irises of his eyes fixed dully on them, like identical pewter discs, flat and inorganic. Zealous shifted under the scrutiny, rocking forward to put his elbows on his thighs. He returned the stare for a moment before it moved on to Thieving. Thieving smoked and seemed to consider the newcomer.

Meanwhile Kallen stared at this man with a strange raptness. Her lips were pressed tensely on each other and her eyes unblinking. Zealous had seen this expression before on other women. She stood, shifted her chair further into the room with the others, and sat again, waiting--clearly the newcomer was about to speak.

He did. His voice was deep but youthful. "I am in command of this operation. I am revealing myself to you now because I must, if everything is to go according to plan. When we reach Britannia you will all follow my orders. Is that understood?"

Zealous looked briefly at C.C., then shrugged. Thieving's look was unfathomable, icy eyes staring out, cigar burning forgotten in his fingers. Zealous knew that Thieving had intended to assume in large part the mission's leadership role, despite C.C.'s position as backer. That was always how he operated. Thieving did not like to trust a thing like strategy to anyone but himself. In many ways it was what he most enjoyed about all of this.

For a moment Zealous feared that Thieving would turn to him, and give him a look, and the look would mean that they would leave. But after a moment's hesitation, Thieving slouched further into the sofa and raised his cigar in a smoky wisp of greeting to the pewter-eyed man.

Zealous smirked. Thieving would wait and see what this new person was about.

The man continued as though everyone had agreed with him: "In the next few days, arrangements will be made to transport our equipment. Then, on Friday, we board an airship and head across the Pacific to Britannia."

Thieving's eyebrows raised and he put his cigar back in his mouth. "An airship?"

"Yes," the man nodded. "Our accommodations will be luxurious. The trip will take three days, of course, but that's the cost of luxury. It also means we will be able to ship our equipment with us, in the cargo bay." He gestured, "C.C. has your tickets, and forged travel documents for each of you."

Thieving and Zealous reluctantly stood and went over to C.C. The green-haired girl opened a briefcase and began solemnly handing out the papers. Kallen took hers first and flopped down on the couch the Shads had just vacated, lying down across the whole thing. When they turned to look, she stuck out her tongue at them and leered. Thieving scowled at her and languidly scratched in his curling hair. "You shouldn't lie there. We are filthy men."

"Right," she ignored this and began to read through her documents.

Thieving looked up morosely from his passport. After further examination, it became apparent that the two of them shared the same fake surname. "What are we, brothers?" Thieving complained.

"Married, maybe," Kallen teased from the couch.

C.C. said, "I don't see the problem. Your _real_ fake surnames are the same, after all."

Zealous shook his head. "'Shadow' is a unit designation, not a surname."

Thieving was nodding. "Big difference."

Kallen looked up from the couch with a new curiosity, propping up on an elbow. "A unit? A military unit? So are there more of you guys?"

Thieving and Zealous looked at each other. There was a long silence. Then Zealous said simply: "No."

After ensuring that their documents were in order, they began to disperse back to their own hotel rooms. It was apparent that C.C. and the new man were going to share the same room. Kallen had already left. Thieving lit a new cigar, puffed on it, and turned to leave.

But Zealous paused before the pewter-eyed man. They were of nearly the same height. Zealous looked an inch or two down into the odd eyes. "So, what's your name?" And he offered up his hand and a smile.

"For the mission, my callsign will be L.L.," momentarily he looked down into Zealous' hand, and then he briefly and limply shook it. The fingers were wiry, the hand cold.

Of course, thought Zealous Shadow, grimly. It was as he'd expected.

_We are born without names, and we die without them._

_

* * *

_

Hey everybody. Yes, I'm back at long last.

Summer turned out to be more time consuming than I'd thought. Having fun is difficult work and I'm glad to get a breather from it to do some writing.

I think I'll address a couple of things:

First of all, I know this chapter is hot on the heels of the last one, and short. I was going to move on directly to the longer chapter I had planned, but I realized I needed some in between stuff. Next chapter should be soon, as I've been planning it and looking forward to it for months.

Questions from people:

Lt. Zander:

Q: "Great job, the only thing I dislike is the slightly editted timeline.

Also, didn't the Knight of Round call Albilon a 9th Generation-KnightMare? So wouldn't that make the mass-produced Vincent a 9th Generation or are Lancelot and Albilon two different things entirely? "

A: I'm pretty certain the edited timeline is exactly what they have in the show. That's why I was explaining it, because the show never really goes into detail but it's important to the history of it. I found that info on the Code geass wiki.

As for the Vincent, I'm pretty sure it is an Eighth Generation. The Ninth is the Albion and the Guren S.E.I.T.E.N., with the development of energy wings (The Albion is the latest version of Lancelot, while I think Vincents are based on an older model).

cHiMer:

Q: "Independent State of Primorskiy Kray" well... doesn't sound too good. "Kray" literally means a province, and a country calling itself province is kind of weird. "Independent State of Primorye" sounds much better (Primorye being a noun instead of an adjective).

A: That's absolutely true, in fact I learned my mistake about fifteen minutes after I wrote the chapter. But I was too lazy to go back and fix it. Maybe soon I'll go back and edit things. Thanks, I was wondering if someone would catch that.

Q:Second, Russia fragmenting into several states. While not completely impossible, it wouldn't fall apart into states that small for Primorye to be its own country. There's simply no reason to. Ethnic, economic, you name it but still no. Of course everything I just said may be rendered redundant because if I remember right, the map o' the world in CG depicted most of Russian Far East under Chinese control.

A: Also true I guess. I was thinking maybe a much larger area of Russia could have seceded and called itself Primorye after the original Kray, but it still doesn't make a lot of sense. Oh well. Plot device.

Q: P.S. Vincent sucks.

A: Hmmm yes, true. Compared to the Guren or Lancelot or any of the really crazy Knightmares the Vincent isn't special. However, Zealous sees them as very good because as a mere mercenary he is used to much older Knightmares like Sutherland or whatever.

Wynster McG:

Q: I am curious as to how the car got away from the villa. With Orange and Zero II busted out of prison, wouldn't the authorities have expected them to return? That sounds like an adventure in itself, stealing and hotwiring your own car out of your own garage. [Can Jeremiah have a conversation with his car if it has a computer inside?]

A: I considered depicting this scene, but after giving it some thought I decided to leave it up to the readers' imagination. Mostly I just didn't want to work out some crazy plan for how they did it. I knew it would take up a large portion of the chapter if I was going to do it right.

Incidentally, anybody reading this should go and check out Wynster's CG stories, which are awesome.

That's all for now. Hope to be uploading again soon.

JDCT


	13. Starlight

He dreamt for a long time that she was standing in the rain again.

No umbrella, no hood. Just her hair sodden and twisted around her face and neck and shoulders. Upon her cheeks, it was impossible to distinguish the droplets of rain from the tears. He only dreamt the image, not the conversation, not his own presence there. She came and went, as well, not solid but a thing which shimmered in and out of his mind like a seashell dug into a beach, periodically revealed by the ebb of the surf.

He also dreamt for a long time that he was falling. Falling through banks of wrinkled cloud, lit orange and pink by a sunrise, the same kind of clouds which floated in the place beyond the Thought Elevator. He fell and fell and fell through the clouds until he broke through them, and dropped into a place full of stars. It was not space, this place, not cold, not a vacuum. A warm air blew on him as he fell, and his breaths came slowly and effortlessly. And far above he could see the clouds through which he had fallen, darkening as they receded away.

As he tumbled lazily through the stars, he felt calm take him. He did not know where he was. He did not know where he was going. It was not necessary to know these things. All that mattered was that, in that place full of stars, he was utterly at ease. He had no control over whatever was happening. But he also had no desire to control it. He thought he heard many voices all speaking at once. He saw faces. And the stars were busy out there, illuminating the nothingness. The stars warmed him as he drifted. Knowing that they were there laid his mind to rest, and he felt a relaxation he had not felt in years. The glow of the stars, and their placid murmuring, comforted him.

But there was something in the dark. He could feel it watching him. It was there in the empty spaces between the stars: the dark observing. There was an uneasy presence, something vast.

The stars went out!

One by one, until in all the darkness there was only one point of light. And when it was gone, there was nothing but effortless blackness, and a hideous panic took him.

_DON'T LEAVE ME_

_DON'T GO_

But they were gone. All of them. Forever.

He fell a long time through the void, left with nothing. But gradually, gradually, his dream returned to him. After an eternity in starless emptiness his mind floated up from beneath the abyss and saw and felt things again. Images from his life came to him. A swelling relief took him: _the stars are still here_. _They haven't gone yet._

Every now and then, out of the lazy tide of images, he would see _that_ one. The one of her standing in the rain. Again. Why had it stuck with him for so long? Of all things, why did he constantly remember that one image?

What was it about her?

Could he even remember? He remembered things, some of them. Her voice. Her face: Shirley smug, Shirley embarrassed, Shirley happy. But the one image, of her full of sorrow. That was the one that stayed with him. That was the one that leapt into his mind out of dozens or hundreds of others, the one that haunted the edges of his dreams like grey rain on the horizon.

She was a person who had nothing to do with violence and death. What to him had been a miscalculation, a greater-than-anticipated outcome, to her had been crushing and tragic.

He saw the flash of her face, smiling through pain, at her death. Her death loomed in at him past the field of stars. A feeling rose in him like an impossible chasm, a sense of loss so vast that it overshadowed anything. If, in this world, a person like her could be subjected to so much pain, then better to burn, better to burn it all, better to howl for murder and claw his eyes from their cursed sockets and break his hands on the stone beneath her. The pain in him lit and became a tower of fire, roiling unquenchable anger, a fury so vast that he would do anything, _anything_ to feed it. He hated. He hated Rollo and C.C. and Kallen and Jeremiah and even _her_, even _Shirley_, he hated! And most of all! Most of all, he hated _LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA!_

But then the moment passed by, subsided. Because she didn't mind, she said. She really didn't mind. And she loved him. And she loved him. She forgave him. If she'd known that Rollo had killed her, she probably would have forgiven him too.

Because Shirley had always been a silly girl. She was childish. She was clumsy. Sometimes it grew apparent that she wasn't as intelligent as some. She only cared about silly little things. The really important things didn't matter to her. Big issues, like life and death, victory and defeat, Britannia and Japan. None of those larger issues mattered to her. She was concerned with… with knitting scarves, and who liked who at school, and what to eat for lunch, and movies and concerts and dates.

Compared to her, he was nothing.

_Nothing._

His accomplishments, his unsurpassable intelligence, his schemes and plots, his successes and conquests. All of the most important things he had ever done. All totally meaningless compared to her.

She was a greater person than he would ever be. This was the thought that stayed with him for a long time as the stars wheeled by, and as he fell through them. Eventually he closed his eyes and let it carry him away. The stars whispered him to sleep. He slept for time uncountable.

He awoke with the image of Shirley's death burned into his mind. He was sweating, groping in panic for her hand. Sheets were twisted damply around his body. He raised up on his hands and knees, still feeling an afterimage of the stone she had died on, grinding into his palms. A sob shuddered through him. He squeezed his eyes shut and lifted a hand to smear the tears away.

Beneath the mask he could feel the prickle of sweat on his cheeks, as the material wicked it from his face and sent it out the other side. With a sudden ferocity he pressed his thumbs into the catches and tore the mask from his face, hurling it against the wall. He had been wearing it at all times, fearing what would happen if someone untrustworthy recognized him. But now he couldn't seem to care.

He clambered up from the bed and felt his way to the bathroom, squinting as his hand found the light switch and flicked it on. His silhouette in the mirror suddenly was bathed in light, the face he rarely saw now, the wan pale countenance, hair draping low over his forehead and down between his shoulder-blades.

He hunched over the sink and stared into his own lavender eyes. As if he could Geass himself once again. Maybe Geass himself back to being Lelouch Lamperouge.

But it was far too late for that. In so many ways.

There was a soft knock on the door. Lelouch was hunched over the sink, fixated, skin shining with sweat; he did not even realize someone was intending to see him, until the knock came again. And then slowly the dark purple eyes slipped away from the mirror and his reflection, and he peered out of the bathroom, at the front door as though he'd never seen one before.

What if he opened it? Merely went to it, twisted the knob, drew it open without checking to see who was there? A normal person might do this, might not give a second thought to showing his own true face. Perhaps on the doorstep it would be C.C., back from her long stroll about the airship. Or Kallen with a question about the operation. Or it might be Thieving with his ever-present cigar, or Zealous slyly smiling, or a member of the airship's crew, and all would be lost. Nunnally would be lost.

He calmed his breathing, steadied himself, and looked through the tiny peephole. It was Kallen, arms crossed, glancing around as she waited.

"What do you need?" he said, and her sea blue eyes widened as she looked at the door.

"Um," she squirmed a little bit, glanced each way down the hallway again. "Nothing, really. I just wanted to see if you were up. Can we talk?"

"Yes," his voice reverberated through the door.

Kallen smiled. And waited. Lelouch continued to allow time for her to say something, but after a long while her smile expired, and her expression became annoyed. "You want to talk _through_ the door?"

Lelouch frowned slightly. "You'd like to come in?"

"Well, yes," she said in exasperation. "That would make talking a bit easier."

He sighed and made a brief glance back at where he'd thrown the mask. It would take time to put it back on and he had no desire to do so anyway. He said tolerantly, "Is there anyone else in the corridor? Anyone at all?"

Kallen leaned back from the door, arms still crossed. She looked first left and then right, then shook her head. "No."

"All right," he said. He unlocked the door and opened it, and there she was framed in the doorway. Her eyes suddenly went wide and her mouth opened ever so slightly. For a long moment she only stared dumbly at him.

Then he scowled and withdrew further into the room's darkness, glancing furtively at the hall behind her. "Quickly."

Startled into motion, she hurried into the room. Lelouch closed the door, locked it, and latched it, then stared out of the peephole for a moment. When he finally turned, Kallen was still staring at his face, though her mouth had managed to close. She looked so surprised that Lelouch enjoyed a faint smile. Kallen smiled with him.

She said: "It really _is_ you."

Now he chuckled. "You still had doubts?"

"I only ever had your eyes and your voice to go on," she shrugged and turned her back to him, wandering into the darkness of the room. "And your word." Then she looked over her shoulder and smirked cruelly. "With only that it's a wonder I came along."

She seemed to be ribbing him about his integrity. It was an odd thing to joke about, considering how badly betrayed by him she had at one point felt (or more than one). Lelouch crossed his arms and leaned against the bathroom doorjamb. As his arms came up, Kallen glanced automatically down at the movement, and seemed to notice for the first time that he was wearing no shirt, only the striped flannel pants. Lelouch saw the slight reddening of her cheeks, as she glanced ineffectually at the painting next to her and clasped her hands in front. To think that she could still be unnerved by a thing like that.

He disengaged wearily from the wall and strolled over to her, speaking, "So what did you want to talk about?"

She watched him walk by her, her arms crossing to mimic his posture. "I just wanted to know a few things. You know. Like what happened and why you're still alive. Like what's happening right now."

Lelouch sat on the sofa across from the bed, light from the bathroom barely reaching him in the shadows there. Kallen came over and looked down at him. "Well?"

"It's difficult to explain," he shrugged at her.

She sat down next to him, tugging the hem of her skirt down further towards her knees. She was in her normal clothing of course, garb suited to a tourist visiting Britannia for the first time. The skirt was white and pleasant. She wore a yellow tank-top. He could see her black bra-straps, as she eased back into the sofa and gave him an inquisitive look, a red eyebrow cocked.

Lelouch vi Britannia said, with a smile and a lowering of his eyelids: "First you should know that my death was always part of the plan. Zero--the new Zero--was operating as I had predicted and I knew that it would come. Therefore I took precautions to ensure that no dying actually took place on my part--"

He was telling Kallen nothing crucial. He was not even fully listening to what he was saying, in fact. Instead he was observing her as he spoke. His voice flowed melodically and she listened as though there were nothing else in the world. Fascinating.

It was obvious that she desired him. It was also obvious she was trying to keep him from knowing it. Her arms remained crossed, her body language facing away from him at the darkened room. Her expression remained stern. Yet she was leaning slightly towards him; her breathing seemed to come quickly; every now and then as she listened to his voice, she would lick her lips or lift her fingers to self consciously touch her hair. Lelouch observed these details as he spoke and was intrigued.

It had been going on for some time, this attraction to him. This he knew. He had never given it much thought, while they had fought together. Her role had always been clear. There were times when he had thought to broaden that role, to extend the support that she gave him to a more intimate place. There had been times when he desired the closeness of her body, as a mere distraction, to ease the pain of loss. She had resisted. The first time he tried to kiss her, he had received a slap in return.

The second time, _she_ had kissed _him_.

For a long time he had pondered that one. Of course at the time he had paid it no mind; had practically ignored her, but that was all according to plan. After much thought he had come to a partial conclusion: she had kissed him as a last minute hope that it would change his mind, make him back into Zero, and the friend she had known. Perhaps a final desperate attempt to make him understand how she felt. She didn't want to be a distraction, a diversion, a mere asset to him.

She wanted him to desire her, in the same way that she desired him.

Lelouch said, "--and as to the current situation, I had Geassed a number of people within the Imperial staff, to send an encrypted e-mail to a specific address if anything should go wrong with Nunnally. By luck one of these people was included in the plot against her."

And he leaned back into the sofa, finished for now, awaiting her next response. In his lap, his long fingers tapped absently. Kallen had relaxed somewhat during his oration, her hands clasped between her bare thighs, sinking back into the sofa until her body was pointed almost wistfully towards him. She had shifted closer as well, perhaps unconsciously, until her crossed legs were nearly touching his own.

He looked at Kallen; her face was softly lit by the glow from the bathroom, a strap of the tank-top slipping unnoticed from one shoulder. He looked at her lips, and the curve of her neck, and the shock of deep red hair. She'd started to wear it like that all the time, he noticed for the first time. Buoyant and fierce instead of brushed into submission.

Lelouch turned away, for a moment gazing over the shadows which lurked in the room's corners. It was there waiting in the dark, he could feel it. He did not want to be left alone with it. The dreams were made of death tonight.

Lelouch turned back to Kallen. Neither of them had spoken for a minute or two. She shifted nervously under his scrutiny. She was something vivid. So far removed from death. She burned with the present, with defiance and hope and life.

He wanted her. Tonight.

Why?

It excited him that she so obviously desired him. He had been dreaming of Shirley, of her feelings for him. He had not realized it until it was too late, the pure thrill of being wanted. It had ashamed him even to admit it to himself, but he acknowledged it nonetheless. It had been almost addictive, near the end, being in Shirley's presence, knowing and observing the affect that he had on her. Was it her capacity for love that he was drawn to, in retrospect? Or had he merely loved the power he had over her, the knowledge that she worshipped him?

There was something about both Kallen and Shirley, a feeling that C.C. could never give him. C.C. was nearly passionless, her ability to care dulled by centuries of life. They were friends and lovers, yes. She supported him. But there was something about C.C. that had died even though her body never did; she was half-alive, moving through the world without bothering to look at it any longer. It was surreal, at times, how half of her seemed to live beyond his reach, beyond the reach of anything living. She had never looked at him with any true desire in her heavy-lidded eyes, never shown any signs of passion. Their moments of intimacy together had been silent, solemn, slow. He never knew whether she was pleased by him or not. C.C. was as cold as a snowflake.

Kallen burned like the sun.

He wanted her. Tonight.

Why?

Because she wanted him.

She would drive away the darkness which awaited, and together they would bathe in starlight for the present. Everything else could wait, the reminders and promises that all of it would fade away.

"Kallen," his voice came quietly, and she startled. It was the first time either of them had spoken in some time.

"Yeah?" she wrinkled her nose and sniffed.

His lavender eyes gazed into her. "Do you remember when you kissed me, at Ashford Academy?"

She blushed slightly, eyes wide, and suddenly seemed to notice that she'd been leaning closer to him. She shifted awkwardly backwards, clearing her throat. "Um. Yeah, I guess."

"Why did you?" he smiled in at her, an arm languidly thrown over the sofa's back.

Kallen swallowed nervously. She glanced at his lips for a split second, then back to his eyes. "Um. I don't know."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, "You don't know? Are you sure?"

She said in a small voice, looking away, "I just thought... maybe... it would bring you back."

And Lelouch vi Britannia smiled gently. "I _am_ back," and Kallen looked up with a single tear slipping down from one of her eyes. Then he leaned closer to her: "I never thought I would see you again. And if I did ever see you I thought you would hate me."

Lelouch lifted a hand to gently wipe the tear from her cheek. "Do you hate me?"

Kallen sniffed plaintively. "I don't know."

He withdrew his hand from her cheek and she shivered. Now Lelouch leaned forward and spoke softly next to her ear: "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

Kallen caught her breath, stiffening ever so slightly. She closed her eyes. Goosebumps rose on her bare arms. When her eyes opened, Lelouch put his fingers under her chin and kissed her. Her lips slid warmly over his own. She made a small noise of alarm and her eyes widened, hands rising to press against his chest.

But then her hesitation passed, and she was kissing him back, running her hands down over his bare abdomen, pressing herself against him. He could feel her body against his through the tank top. His hands pulled her towards him as hers ran through his hair. He kissed her lips for a long while, and then her cheeks, and then her neck. When he kissed Kallen's neck she made a tiny gasp and pressed tighter against him, back arching. He kissed under her chin. Then her lips again. And then she was falling backwards, pulling him down on top of her.

He caught himself before his weight came down fully on her, a hand on either side of her head. His hair had grown so long that it spilled down to tickle her face. She was smiling so coyly that Lelouch hesitated a moment before continuing; he stared down at her. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she reached up to absently slide her hand along his arm, until it rested upon his own hand beside her head. "Have you always thought I was beautiful? I thought for so long I was nothing to you..."

His arms bent, bringing him down so he could kiss her again, then push back up. "You always meant a lot to me."

He kissed her twice more in the same fashion, and she giggled: "Push-ups? Not your strong suit." And she took hold of his wrists and very easily pinned them behind his back. Then she leaned up into him, until he fell on his back, bumping his head on the armrest. "Ouch." Her body came down on top of his and she straddled him, drawing his hands up over his head. Lelouch stared in amazement; five minutes ago she had blushed when he so much as went shirtless in her presence.

She stared down at him. "I can't believe this is happening," she breathed. She let go of his wrists and slowly ran her fingers over the whole of his chest. She swallowed, then hesitated for a moment when her hands reached his hip-bones.

Lelouch said, "What is it?"

"Savouring the view," she told him sheepishly. "I think you're the prettiest guy I've ever seen."

He was sceptical. "_Pretty_?"

"Beautiful, even," she bent to kiss his chest, then eased down on top of him, cuddling into him. She rested the side of her head on his chest and sighed. Lelouch craned his neck, gazing down to see her hair spilling down over either side of his torso. The side of her face was hot against him. She seemed to be savouring the sound of his heartbeat, or his breathing, or both. Amazing. He rested his head against the armrest with a long sigh. It was exactly what he had wanted. Amazing. They basked in each other.

Soon she slid her way up his body to kiss him again, gently. His hands snaked around her and stretched up between her shirt and her back, holding her close. Kallen's skin was like hot velvet. More than merely warm, more than merely smooth. He drew her shirt up until their bare flesh pressed together. The skin, there too, was hot against his own. He put his hands on her shoulders, her arms, her back and front, her cheeks. Everywhere it was the same.

Her flesh was literally hot, as though a trillion stars burned within her.

* * *

Zealous watched the green woman glide across the airship's deck. She moved through the night like a spirit, the simple white gown drifting about her. She passed by the ranks of deck-chairs without seeing him as he relaxed there with his tea. She went to the railing some ways away from him and gazed out for a long while, hair floating in the wind.

Here over the ocean the stars peered down, and a huge bright half-moon. Zealous liked nights like this more than he liked sleeping through them; he had left Thieving snoring in the room, made tea, and found a deck-chair to recline on. Cradled by the night, he had sat for some time now with only stars, moon, and wind for company. Beneath him the airship thrummed with gentle motion, finding its languid way across the Pacific to Britannia.

And now the green woman had appeared. For many minutes she stood alone at the railing, staring motionlessly out at the horizon. Zealous sipped tea and watched her. Maybe she had the same love of night that he did, or maybe she was unable to sleep. It was never clear quite what she was up to. Presently, she turned away from the railing and made to walk away; but she saw Zealous then, stopped short, and gazed at him for a moment as if wondering why he was there. Zealous had half a mind to wave, or leap up and rush over to join her. But there was a sullenness in her look that gave him pause.

She turned and walked away, soon disappearing from view. Zealous leaned back in his chair and pondered C.C. Normally he would have approached as soon as she'd appeared, to converse and to honour the coincidence that had brought them both out under the starlight. But there was something in her, tonight, that warded him off, some sombre presence. And then the expression she'd sent him was unusually empty.

C.C. was troubled by something. Zealous knew this.

He looked up at the moon again, almost a look of camaraderie. There were some nights that Zealous and the moon shared alone together. Now they had company. The green woman wandered in the night with them. They were the evening's hosts, and if their guest was unhappy, it was an issue that troubled them both.

Yet still Zealous would not bother her during her stroll. It went against his nature to make this decision, but it seemed likely that she wanted to be alone. That's what the look had been. Almost uncomfortable to discover that he also shared the night.

Who was she? He had already extracted from Kallen that both of them were former members of the Black Knights. But in what capacity had she served? She wasn't going to pilot a knightmare during the mission, and she didn't have a soldier's look. She was operating as a coordinator, for this man L.L. It was clear that he too was a former member of the Black Knights, probably a superior officer to Kallen and C.C.

And what had convinced Kallen to help them, after he and Thieving had so spectacularly failed? That one had never been properly explained, and Kallen wouldn't speak of it. Clearly he and Thieving were being kept in the dark on a number of things, because they weren't former Black Knights.

Kallen had been so adamantly against kidnapping the Empress. And now--

But it was pointless to speculate. There were innumerable conclusions to be jumped to from what he had learned so far, and it was still too soon to be sure of anything. His intuition had not told him the answer yet. When the pieces had fallen far enough into place, he would understand.

For now, it was enough to be drinking tea under the sky.

And what a sky! Out here over the ocean the stars twinkled densely together, crowding out the darkness. And the cloudy swath of the galactic rim was visible amid them. The lights of cities were far away, offering no competition for the lights of space. Over the ocean one could stare unhindered deep into the universe, seeing suns trillions of kilometers away, clearly, with the naked eye.

Beyond their utter brilliance there was utter death. They were the life in the void.

* * *

This one took a while to complete. I have to thank Wynster for beta reading it extensively. Because it's been delayed a bunch and proofread, I'm maybe half-way through the next one. Wait shouldn't be long.

Oh, and the chapter title comes from the Muse song by the same name. The name Muse is really apt for them--their songs are perfect for listening to while writing.

JDCT


	14. Firelight

Hi everybody. Before I move on with this next chapter I feel a need to address an issue:

My illustrious beta-reader Wynster brought something to my attention, and I feel that many of you will agree with her: she said that the way Lelouch and C.C. are getting along in my story is wrong, that I've written their relationship more like how it was at the begginning of the show. Couple of reviewers said the same thing.

This is very true! But it's not a mistake.

There is a very good reason for why Lelouch and C.C.'s relationship has been set back, and unfortunately I can't give it away just yet. It'll be clear before long.

Hope you enjoy.

JDCT

* * *

They moved effortlessly through customs checks and into mainland Britannia. The forged documents were nearly on par with what had been in use by Black Knights agents abroad, back in the old days. Their knightmares and equipment were all locked away in cargo containers intended for the purpose, and at the port in New Tintagel these were transferred from the airship's holds to a transport truck Lelouch had bought in advance. Then Thieving set out in the truck, and the others followed in a rented car.

So far the funds were holding up. The money was coming from reserve accounts he had set up while running the Black Knights, set aside for just such an emergency as this. Still, money was not the only limiting factor here. It was a small group, and he had grown accustomed to the ordering of entire armies--indeed, an Empire. The sudden shift required a return to the mentality he'd employed in the earliest days of the Black Knights, when they were nothing but terrorists harassing the colonial forces. But there was a crucial difference: in old Area 11 there had been slums and ruins on hand to hide equipment in, and the population was largely on their side, _and_ the Britannian forces were out of their element.

Here he would conduct terrorism from within the Britannian nation. There were few places to hide. They were surrounded by foes. Lelouch had not even given _thought_ to the idea of escaping once Nunnally was secure. All his planning had so far been reserved for how they were going to storm the palace without pulling the entire Britannian Army down on them.

But now as they pressed through the New Tintagel traffic, he gazed out the passenger window of their car, at the glinting skyscrapers which lifted to the sky, as thick as grass. He'd once been master of all of this realm. But it was still a familiar feeling--the idea that he was the enemy of everyone he saw, that all the might of this country was now against him.

They took the expressway out of the city, northward, heading to Pendragon. They moved through bright fields and past lakes, and later the highway twisted over night-time hills covered by forest. They stopped for the night in a midsized town, perhaps a little more than half-the distance to Pendragon. Lelouch stood into the cool air and stretched his legs as Zealous did the same on the driver's side.

They checked into the hotel, two rooms. When they headed for the elevator, Kallen caught up to them, her face flushed with anger. She had just come from the public bathroom in the lobby, Lelouch thought. Once the elevator door had closed she explained:

"They have a _servant_ in the bathroom. She tried to put soap on my hands for me," she said tensely. "I think she's Japanese."

"That's normal," Zealous rumbled, leaning against the panelled back of the elevator.

"Sure, it _used_ to be," said Kallen, crossing her arms as she looked over her shoulder at him. "I thought the Numbers were all supposed to be citizens now."

Zealous shrugged. "Freedom isn't the same as equality. Even emancipated they don't have the same education or qualification for the jobs Britannians have. It'll take time."

They set out again early in the morning. They would reach Pendragon before nightfall. Lelouch was glad that the drive was a quiet one, for he intended to think. Zealous seemed to be as lost in thought his he was. Kallen was asleep half the time and staring out the window the other half. As for C.C., the girl could have been a statue. She sat motionless with her stuffed toy cradled in her lap. Was it possible that she knew about his and Kallen's evening together? She seemed capable of knowing almost anything.

Kallen made him feel wanted and needed, but there was more to it than that. With her he could almost forget the pain that had brought him there, and the horrors that the future would bring. But she had storybook ideals, of love and life. She would want him on her own terms and there would probably be trouble in any emotional relationship between them. It was true that he cared about her, though. Wasn't it? He was not even sure anymore.

So in the silence of the drive, Lelouch turned his mind to the conditions of the operation at hand. He already had a few ideas about the operation itself. Each of the knightmares were equipped with a modified communications system that Rakshata had worked up in the later days of the Black Knights. And he also had at his disposal the counterpart to that system--an ECM which would jam all electronic transmissions in a wide area. The ECM functioned selectively, however: it would allow the Black Knights encryptions to function, so that during the operation only his people would be able to communicate with each other. All other transmissions would be contained, and thus (in theory) no one would receive word of the attack. The operation would be contained, and once they had Nunnally there would be a delay before any Britannian forces realized what had happened.

The exact details could wait until they were ready to survey the target itself. But what concerned Lelouch most of all was now escape:

How would they quickly get Nunnally to a safe location? Preferably somewhere in the east. His geass-controlled inside source had informed him that even after Nunally had been disconnected from her IV-drip she would require several hours to fully regain consciousness. After that, presumably, she would be able to confirm that she had been betrayed. The best course of action would be to place her in the hands of the UFN. They had the resources to broadcast her messages to the world.

But how were they going to get her back across the ocean? Obviously public transport was out. While in Britannia he would have to secure some kind of private aircraft. The Guren would be fastest, obviously, but no knightmare, even with spare energy fillers, had the charge to cross the ocean. Even with a private aircraft, though, there would be customs. Unauthorized flights would be detected. Throughout the entire drive Lelouch could think of no suitable answer to this final condition of their success.

They reached the Pendragon Metropolitan Area in the early evening and ate dinner at a restaurant on the outskirts. While the city proper had been annihilated by Schniezel's FLEIJA device, the PMA remained largely intact. Everyone had expected business in the Pendragon area to plummet after the city's destruction, but this was largely untrue. The tourism industry had begun to flourish here, as people from all over Britannia flocked to see the site of the FLEIJA crater.

C.C. had already begun paying rent on a midrange apartment only a few kilometres from the crater. It was here that they moved into, that evening. Lelouch, Kallen, and Zealous moved all of their things into the apartment and began setting up what would be his base of operations in the master bedroom. Onto the large desk in the corner went all of his electronic equipment.

Meanwhile, Thieving and C.C. drove deep into the mountains north of the Aries Villa. They hid the transport truck with the knightmares deep in an abandoned railway tunnel, blocked the exits, and returned in the car.

The very next morning, they began surveillance and information gathering for the operation. Everyone participated in this, and at the end of each day Lelouch would sit at his desk, and arrange the details to his liking. He would sit long into the night, slumped before the desk, gazing over troop movements, garrison information, topographical maps, photographs. He rarely slept in these days before the operation. And always C.C. would watch him listlessly from the bed, her eyes a glimmer of gold.

One night he suddenly yawned and leaned back into a stretch. He looked at the time on his computer, then slumped in defeat. He was so tired he could barely marshal his thoughts, and thus was unfit to be planning. He looked over to the bed. C.C. was atop the covers, as casually sprawled as ever, but her eyes had drifted closed and she was asleep. Her white lips were slightly open as she breathed.

Lelouch stood wearily. He lay on the bed, gently so as not to wake her. And for a long time he watched her breathe in her sleep. A comforting and familiar thing. Why did she look more alive now than in waking? Now, as he looked on her, why did he feel only kind of pain, a lurking anxiousness?. As he watched her Lelouch felt the dark pressing in, and was afraid.

He passed into sleep. He dreamed of vanishing stars, again.

* * *

Hours later, C.C. shifted and awoke. She saw Lelouch's sleeping face, the stranger's mask. And though he did not see or feel her, she shifted closer to him, then laid a hand on his chest and closed her eyes again.

* * *

The door to the Shads' room was open. C.C. saw no reason not to simply walk in and see if they were there. Lelouch had expressed his desire to have a group meeting within thirty minutes, to outline some of what had been planned so far. So C.C. went in to find Zealous and Thieving.

Her eyes fell solemnly to the floor. This was where Zealous Shadow lay, midway between the door and his bed, with a comforter twisted so tightly around him that he appeared to be inside a sort of cocoon. Only his face and a tuft of his dark hair showed from within the blanket.

She stood over him, resisting the impulse to kick him awake. "Zealous," she stared down. Then a little louder, "_Zealous_."

After a moment's pause, she put her foot on Zealous and shook him a little bit. He awakened, opening his eyes, and squinting up at her. He yawned massively and said something that sounded a little bit like 'Good morning'.

"It's after noon," said C.C. "We're having a meeting. Why are you on the floor?"

Zealous was having difficulty getting out of the comforter. It seemed to be trapping him in. One hand managed to reach out through his face-opening, and then he was pulling it down around his waist. "Oh, you know," he yawned again and said blearily. "I was in a hurry. Didn't have time to get all the way to the bed." He rose to his bare feet and scratched his head. "Besides, the floor is good for my back. And it's dangerous to sleep next to Thieving."

C.C. crossed her arms and looked at Zealous. At that moment he was phenomenally dishevelled. His hair rose above his head, as it did normally, but now it was swept entirely to one side, as though he'd been standing in one direction of wind for hours. His pyjama shirt was buttoned incorrectly, and his pants appeared to be on backwards.

He turned to look at the bed: "But now that you mention it, that bed does look lonely. Let's put it to use."

Surely he was not suggesting--

But even as she readied a cruel reply, Zealous turned and leaped onto the bed. He began bouncing up and down on it like a child, giddily. "Help me out here," he beckoned as he jumped.

And of course she turned away from his foolishness, and perused the damage that had been done to the room since the Shads had moved into it. Clothes on the floor, papers strewn about, empty plates still encrusted with cheese from the pizzas C.C. usually ordered for dinner.

C.C. looked back at Zealous just as Thieving's lean form was emerging from the bathroom with no shirt. His eyes widened as he perceived Zealous' activities. Then his face lit in a smile. "So _that's_ what we're doing!" He dove headlong onto the bed beside Zealous and then leapt to a standing position. The two of them bounced all around each other in circles.

C.C. resisted the impulse to scoff at their antics. She turned back to the room, seeing a few books strewn on the end table next to the sofa. Purely out of boredom, she picked one up and dropped into the sofa to skim over it as she waited for them to finish. She'd expected some lowbrow action thriller, but it was a book of ancient Chinese spiritual thought.

"My book!" Zealous crowed in mid-jump as he pointed an accusing finger at her. "Don't lose my place."

She looked back down, ignoring him. In fact it was impossible to tell exactly where Zealous' place was. There were innumerable spots at which the corners of pages had been folded over to mark a passage. She opened the book at random and read a few words, elegant Chinese characters. She had not read this kind of script in perhaps fifty years, but she could still understand it fluently enough. It was poetic and cryptic, a text on Taoist philosophy. It was a far cry from the political and religious dogma of Britannia. Tao appeared almost to exalt those who were without ambition, the opposite of Imperialist Britannia. Lelouch might be interested in this kind of thing, in fact (a translated edition), though he rarely had time for casual reading these days.

After they'd rescued Nunnally, then. After they'd rescued Nunnally, surely everything would return to normal. Lelouch and she could return to their exile from the world. Kallen was a passing thing, and she could not fault him for it. The girl was attractive enough, and willing, though she might be hurt if he allowed the situation to spin out of control. He only needed time.

But ever since the Requiem, Lelouch had been a changed person. It was as though all warmth had been taken from him. And C.C. felt a mounting dread as she recognized, perhaps, what was in him. The same thing she had felt in the early days of her own Code, gradually worsening. It was as though every day he became less human. He knew what was to come. The passing of centuries like wind, and the fading of all that he loved in the world.

And in the end she was only the witch who had brought it all upon him. C.C. huddled deeper into the book, though she was no longer reading. She'd thought that Lelouch was the one whose spirit would defeat the long loneliness of geass. But now...

"Boss!" said Thieving exuberantly, and C.C. looked up. Lelouch had appeared at the door, leaning casually. C.C. folded the book closed and stood, crossing the room to Lelouch's side. She did not like his disguise, the odd face and dead eyes, but it was a necessity. She stood with Lelouch for a moment though he did not acknowledge her.

"Yo Boss," said Thieving. "Jump up here. Adds years to your lifespan. All work and no play, y'know. Kallen said you've been up all night." He bounced a little in emphasis.

Lelouch's arms were folded, but there was a slight smile on his face as he watched the Shads. Surely he would not join them. The very image of him jumping on a bed was ridiculous. But he leaned in ever so slightly as he made to move forwards. C.C. watched him in amazement. And then, very suddenly, she realized that she wanted to see him do it. She wanted to see him bouncing and grinning like a little boy.

But he only shook his head wryly, with that slight smile, and turned aside. "We're waiting in the other room," he told them, and left.

C.C. watched him go with a strange feeling in her. There was something in that small grin he wore. She'd felt something in his presence as he watched them, something carefree that he had rarely shown her before. Something unworried and exciting. She realized it probably had to do with Kallen. In her maybe he had found the comfort he needed, the promise of life and love. Kallen could give him back what C.C. had wanted to. Maybe-- Maybe Lelouch did not need her anymore.

And why did that feeling settle in her gut like ice?

* * *

Kallen waited glumly at the kitchen table. Some sort of commotion was happening in one of the bedrooms. Lelouch had just gone to hurry up the Shads and C.C., but at the moment Kallen was eating toast. And was deep in thought. She had been glad that the others were taking so long, actually. It had been nice, just her and Lelouch waiting together in the kitchen.

And yet still, he had barely said anything to her. She'd known that with everyone else--especially C.C.--around it might be unlikely they'd be able to duplicate their moment together anytime soon. But during the long drive she'd made a decision; she was going to _talk_ to him. That was something that was important. That was what made two people close, to actually know each other well. And while they'd spent a lot of time together in the past, she still felt that they needed to _know _each other a bit better. She'd never got a chance to tell him about her dead brother Naoto, or just...just _talk_ about all the crazy things that had happened to them both.

At first, it had been enough to know that he really _did_ care about her after all. The answer to the question she'd asked him so many times: _what am I to you?_ But after that night, Kallen had been surprised to discover that she still didn't really know what she was to him. He'd said she always meant 'a lot' to him. Well. What the hell did that mean? The Guren meant 'a lot' to her. Depending on the morning, _coffee_ meant 'a lot' to her.

Boys. She crossed her arms gruffly, chewing toast.

At that moment Lelouch came back around the corner with a wry smile, arms crossed. She blinked up at him as he neared the table, swallowing her bite quickly so as to talk to him. This was it, she thought as he pulled out the opposite chair and slumped into it, already leaning over the map they'd put there. He seemed to be in a reasonably good mood. She was going to start a personal conversation with him.

Kallen said, "So did you used to live here? In Pendragon?"

His false eyes came up to hers. He glanced over his shoulder as though to make sure the Shads couldn't be overhearing any of this. "Yes. At Aries, in fact. The Villa was my mother Marianne's place of residence while we were being raised. My familiarity with the region should be a great help to the operation."

"Oh," this wasn't quite the direction she had intended. "Was it nice there, growing up?"

Now he sat back from the map, a faint smile growing again. He looked into the past. "It was. Many of the princes and princesses visited there together at one time or another. We didn't understand, then, that we would be enemies later..."

"Well," Kallen felt a sudden feeling of awe. She'd forgotten, in a way, that he was nobility of the highest order. It was easy to forget. For so long he'd just been Lelouch Lamperouge. "I mean, no one could have predicted you'd end up fighting them."

But Lelouch made a sour face and looked aside. "I didn't mean my rebellion. All of the royal family were rivals for the throne. That's the way my father wanted it--" he checked over his shoulder again. "That's how the Britannian politics work. The children who grew up together--it was always intended that they would battle for the throne. That way," Lelouch scowled, "the one who succeeded would be the strongest of them."

Kallen smiled despite the bitterness of what Lelouch was saying. This was exactly what she had wanted. Already she felt she knew him better. Kallen said, "You know, my brother--"

But at that moment C.C. appeared around the corner. Kallen took one look at her and stopped short. It was odd, how she felt almost guilty. But she didn't know the history. It was possible that there had never been anything between Lelouch and the strange girl. Everyone had always just assumed...

Kallen continued nervously as though they'd been talking about the operation, as C.C. took the seat next to Lelouch. "--last night when I went out I saw at least forty soldiers inside the villa, using the Guren's IR scopes. And I located Nunnally's room."

Lelouch wore a supremely amused look at her sudden shift. Of course, Kallen thought, there was no reason for them to hide that they were having a personal chat, was there? She'd overreacted. But Lelouch played along gallantly: "And you were not detected?"

"'Course not." she smirked. "I didn't go airborne at all. Just hid out in the treeline on the ridge a couple kilometers out. I have some pictures of the defences."

By the time she'd finished her report, the Shads had emerged from their lair and taken seats on either side of Kallen. For some reason Thieving wasn't wearing a shirt; it seemed to be a normal thing for him. And Zealous was still in pyjamas, though his buttons were done up in the wrong order. Looking around, Kallen thought that their group looked a bit too disreputable to carry out such a dangerous operation.

In any case, Lelouch began his briefing now:

"Out plan for the initial storming of Aries is now ready," he said. "I thank you all for helping to gather intelligence. I have considered our resources at hand and the enemy force, and have come up with the appropriate response."

Lelouch stood and paced before the table. "Four days from now, the operation will begin. That day is a Sunday. At nine PM, Thieving Shadow and C.C. will put on uniforms of the Britannian Royal Guard. We have identity cards which will mark them as high-ranking members. Their pretext for being there is that of an unannounced security inspection. This will allow them entrance to the Aries Villa grounds. They will be driving an armoured car which Zealous and Thieving secured two days ago.

"Their ID cards will only get them inside the outer wall of the Villa. They will not be able to actually _enter_ Aries. The guards at the door perform a retinal and fingerprint scan on most visitors, and we don't have the resources to beat this.

"Meanwhile, Zealous and Kallen will retrieve their knightmares from our hiding place in the north. This must be timed perfectly. As C.C. and Thieving are passing through the initial ID check, our knightmares will arrive via float-devices. The Britannians will see them coming. The Villa's warning system will activate once they are spotted, and the guards inside will know that they are under attack. As per standard procedure, the soldiers inside the villa will cluster around the three entrances to the building, in order to repel anyone trying to get inside.

Lelouch gestured at Zealous. "You'll be able to use the Shiva's railgun in conjunction with its infrared scopes. The IR will show you where soldiers are located, and the raildriver will punch directly through the walls and roof to neutralize them. Am I correct in saying this?"

Zealous leaned sombrely into the conversation. "True. The railgun can do that. But won't there also be servants inside the villa?"

"Not to mention all that pretty architecture," Thieving put in.

Kallen looked back to Lelouch. With this operation he would be attacking his childhood home. How did he feel about that? But Lelouch only nodded:

"The servants will not be in formation at the entrances, of course. They will probably be hiding elsewhere. You won't harm them. Anyway," he went on. "While Zealous is neutralizing the soldiers inside the building, which should only take a few seconds, Kallen will hold off the squadron of Vincents. Then both Guren and Shiva will engage the enemy knightmares. With both of them together it should be relatively easy to destroy all twelve of the Vincents. "

Kallen glanced briefly at Zealous, and he gave her a placid nod. It would be their first time fighting together. She hoped he was as good as he appeared.

"My instruments in the apartment will be patched in to your knightmares' systems, so I'll be able to direct the battle from here. I will also be in contact with the four of you at all times. I will be in operational command, giving orders, during each phase of the operation. While Zealous and Kallen engage the knightmares outside, C.C. and Thieving will move into the villa through the main entrance. They should meet little or no resistance after Zealous' attack. There will be two to five Royal Guard still at the entrance to Empress Nunnally's room. Since you'll be wearing their uniforms," Lelouch nodded at C.C. and Thieving. "The element of surprise should make dispatching them easy."

Thieving waved a placating hand. "Not to worry."

Lelouch's gaze lingered a moment longer before he moved on. "Once the knightmares are destroyed, Zealous and Kallen will be able to confirm if any soldiers are left inside the villa. If the villa is clear, we will effectively control Aries. Our incom jamming system will ensure that we have at least an hour before anyone realizes what has happened. We will be able to secure Nunnally at our leisure at that point.

"Two things are crucial," Lelouch said as he turned to Thieving. "Do not bring the Empress out of her room until I confirm that all hostiles have been eliminated; do _not_ bring her outside the villa until the knightmare combat is over. Absolutely _no_ harm must come to her, do you understand? She must be taken alive and unharmed or there will be no pay."

Thieving only nodded slowly and calmly.

Kallen shifted and looked around her. Zealous was slouched back, watching Lelouch with an inscrutable look on his face. In fact, Zealous looked more solemn than her ever had before. Kallen looked back at Lelouch, thinking: it must be difficult for him to trust near strangers with his sister's life.

* * *

Lelouch crossed his arms and looked down at them. He had to hope that the promise of money was enough to make Thieving Shad protect Nunnally adequately. And besides C.C. would be there as well. Lelouch gathered his thoughts before this next part of the briefing, frowning. Zealous was slouched back casually. What had been a bland look on his face was becoming a slow smile. Maybe he liked the plan, or maybe he just liked being reminded that they were being paid so well for this.

In any case Lelouch went on: "As for how to escape once we have Nunnally, well... I am still pondering that. We need to bring her to the UFN, but it will be extremely difficult to leave Britannia."

He pulled out his chair and sat again, next to C.C. "We have four days to come up with a solution to this." He put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. Kallen was smiling faintly at him across the way.

Thieving cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "In my experience it's always best to make your enemies do your work for you. Since we're surrounded by them maybe that kind of mentality will work for us. Turn them into an asset instead of a problem."

Lelouch nodded grimly, barely listening. Thieving had, oddly enough, guessed pretty much what was in Lelouch's mind. If he still had Geass. If he still had that cursed power he could simply make the Britannians do what he wanted. But now it was gone, and he was faced with how difficult operations like this were going to be without it. To simply make his enemies do what he wanted--

Lelouch's eyes widened. Suddenly he realized. He did not need the Geass. Thieving was right. He could still make the Britannians work for him. A wide smile blossomed on his face and he looked up at the others. "I have an idea."

He swept papers aside and jabbed a finger at the map. "Here. The military base still left outside Pendragon. If it weren't for our incom jamming we would have to worry about them backing up the forces at Aries. Here's what we do. After the villa is ours I will meet you in a third Royal Guard uniform. We simply bring Nunnally to the army base--and tell them what happened!"

Kallen took a bite of toast and stared at him. Zealous blinked. Even C.C. seemed unimpressed. But Thieving apparently saw where this was going. There was a twinkle in his blue eyes.

Lelouch said, "We tell them that Aries was attacked and most of the security detail were killed. We say that the enemies were fought off but that they are only regrouping for another attack. We present Nunnally to them. Under law they are required to provide an air transport for the Empress and her guards, to take her to a safe place. Probably the flight plan will be to New Tintagel. They will send an escort of knightmares or gunships along. Meanwhile--" Lelouch jabbed the map again. "Kallen and Zealous retreat to this mountainous area to avoid detection. They circle around. Once we are airborne, they intercept us and destroy the escorts. The jamming field will stop all transmissions. We take control of the transport and fly to a location of our choosing."

Into the silence Thieving Shad said. "I like it." Zealous was nodding his agreement. And Kallen was beaming at Lelouch, so brightly. It was the look she had worn every time she looked at Zero, every time he had accomplished the impossible. He could do this. Even without Geass, he could do it.

And now to form the idea into a plan.

* * *

The armoured car slid through the chill night air and into Aries. It drove up the cobbled lane, past ranks of cultivated trees. Before the wide stone steps of the villa it halted and the engine turned off. The doors opened and two people stepped out in the uniforms of Britannian Royal Guard, the grey combat suits and helmets, their faces obscured by the usual ocular enhancements. They wore rank insignia on one shoulder and a purple unit patch on the other. As they emerged another descended the steps towards them and saluted.

"Sirs," he said as the tallest of the two lazily returned the salute. "Welcome to Aries Villa. I don't see why this is warranted, but I think you'll find everything to be in order."

Thieving Shad said, "We'll find what there is to find, Lieutenant. The Empress' safety makes it warranted. Don't worry about it. I'm sure you and your men are doing a fine job."

The Lieutenant bowed graciously. "If you'll follow me, sirs, I'll give you a tour." He paused halfway up the steps. "Oh. I'm afraid you'll have to submit to a retinal and thumbprint scan before we allow you in. Sorry, sirs. Procedure, you know," he seemed very embarrassed.

In Thieving's helmet there came the voice of L.L. "ETA on the others, forty-five seconds. Stand clear of the doors."

Thieving gave the soldier a moment to sweat. Then he grinned. "Well Lieutenant, you've just passed the first test." he turned to C.C., whose hair was invisible under the helmet, face smoothly calm. "Make note of that. Very good." He took great delight in saying, "What if we had happened to be enemies of Britannia in disguise? Your vigilance will be noted, Lieutenant."

At this the Lieutenant snapped proudly to attention and gave him another bow. "Follow me, then--"

The air-raid sirens came alive. The wail rose and fell over the night-blanketed compound. Thieving glanced around as though confused. Meanwhile the Lieutenant did not seem to be concerned at all. He seemed more annoyed at the interruption than anything else. Well, that made sense. The chances of anyone actually attacking this deep into Britannia were almost nil. The Lieutenant was on his incom, a hand at his ear, probably getting the details at that very moment.

Suddenly his body language changed. He hunched down reflexively and looked up at the sky. "Knightmares!" he hollered down at them. "Hostile knightmares on approach! This--this has to be a drill." He shouted at Thieving. "Is this a drill, sir?"

Thieving answered as he ducked. "Nothing I know about." He backed against the armoured car as though using it for cover. Any second now Zealous would open fire.

"Well," the Lieutenant hesitated, cowering against the stairs as the siren wailed. "Well, get inside quickly, sirs! We'll forgo the ID check due to emergency circumstances." And he beckoned with one arm as he ran up the stairs to the front entrance.

Thieving shot C.C. an ironic look, which was returned glumly. He had not expected them to be let in that easily. And he had no desire to be killed by his oldest friend, either. Though it would be somewhat fitting. At that very moment, the Lieutenant turned, beckoned to them again, and died.

An electric shriek filled the air, and a blue flash. Thieving squinted and reeled backwards. A rain of pebbles struck all around him, thrown up from the impact of the railgun. Where the Lieutenant had stood there was a smoking crater in the steps, its edges glowing orange. The air erupted again as Zealous fired from somewhere above them. The weapon flared blue and shrieked over and over, and pounded into Aries. The doors crumpled and fell in, pillars suddenly shattered, and the exquisitely shaped stonework vanished into rubble as the railgun chewed into the building.

There was silence for a moment and then the roar of combat filled the air. Behind them the whine of float-devices as the Vincents rose into the fray. Red light and blue light pulsed over the night-time scene, illuminating the ruined gothic entrance to Aries.

Thieving stood and unsnapped the holster of his sidearm. With C.C. beside him, he stepped through the smoking wreckage, over the shredded corpses, and into Aries Villa.

* * *

The Guren ripped into the formation of enemy knightmares. A corner of her mind was reserved for watching Zealous' progress. The sky blinked blue as his Shiva punched brilliant fire into the Villa. The rest of her was taken by combat.

The Vincent seemed to have been given a refit since the last time she'd fought them. In her first pass she only managed to destroy one. She flowed through him like a pink blade, and the energy-wings sliced into him, and he fell apart at the torso. She rounded on the others even as they rushed for Zealous.

The Guren appeared before them, blocking their advance. Thus she herded them, allowing Zealous to finish. The sensor eyes of the Vincents regarded her warily as she hung before them in the air, a vision of fire. The energy radiated from the wings, a pulsing sphere. Then they attacked, trying to flank her. These pilots were good.

She fired her radiation surge into the thick of them; one was vaporized instantly and another managed to deflect the beam aside with his forearm-shield. The others scattered and two came down upon her from above. The Guren whirled aside faster than they could comprehend. Her MVS flourished in a reverse-grip; she skidded it along the arm of one Vincent, until it met the float device and severed it. The frame dropped smoking from the sky. Her energy wing lanced out to knock the other attacker back even as he tried to fire his slash-harkens.

Then she flared pink and dropped in a dive towards the ones who had moved beneath her. But Lelouch's voice came in her ear: "Q1, behind you."

After so long being commanded by him she did not even hesitate; she sent Guren dancing away, avoiding the plunge of an MVS towards her back. She retaliated with the slash-harkens, forcing him to back off. Instincts told her the ones below would be rushing her now. She slid aside and let loose with a wide-burst of the radiation-surge, fit to disable their systems. The boiling red energy caught three and she grinned in triumph--but then the knightmares reeled back and shrugged off the waves of damage. What had succeeding in disabling two rounds-members, at one time, now seemed to be out of date. Kallen grimaced and dodged as they came at her again.

"I'm with you," she heard Zealous' voice say tersely. She saw his blip rising towards her. He had finished with his attack on the villa and was joining the combat. It had disturbed Kallen that one of their roles was to slaughter a number of soldiers who had no chance to defend themselves. In his voice she could hear the same uneasiness.

There was no time to think about it, though. The Vincents roared back into combat and she and Zealous met them head-on. Her slash-harkens whipped out and sliced the arm from one; she closed in and grappled him, the fingers of the radiation-surge clamping over the knightmare's cockpit. Then she hit the trigger; in her grasp the Vincent went limp suddenly like a living thing with its neck broken. The armour bubbled and cracked, and she disengaged downwards as its core detonated brightly.

Above, Zealous was putting his new MVS to the test. He'd said something about a 'projected-edge', earlier, and it seemed to work exactly as advertised. His sky-blue frame slipped out of range of an enemy slash-harken, then flowed into a sword attack. The weapon flashed gracefully in a downwards arc. As it did so the edge glowed, and a neon blue wave shot outwards, passing through the Vincent. After a half-second's pause, the knightmare split cleanly in half and fell from the sky.

Kallen grinned, "Not bad," as she streaked back up into the battle.

"I'm impressed myself," Zealous spun and the Shiva swept its sword in brutal cuts, trailing afterimages of blue in the sky. Another Vincent dodged the waves frantically and managed to keep most of its arm. Kallen came up behind it and finished the job. The Shiva and Guren hovered facing one another, shimmering blue and red respectively.

A quick sensor check told her that six Vincents remained.

"N1," Lelouch addressed Zealous, "directly below you."

Shiva flashed aside instantly and the enemy Vincent drove up into the space he'd just been--and into the Guren's radiation beam, where it contorted hideously, began to melt, and exploded. Zealous said, "Thanks," and swivelled to face the others.

The rest of the battle did not last long. Lelouch called commands to them, and Zealous said to her, in a lull: "What is this? What kind of commander gives orders this specific?"

"Just listen to him," Kallen said and twisted away from the double-bladed MVS of one Vincent.

So the night flickered with red and blue energy, and before long Zealous had apparently learned not to hesitate when Lelouch told him a command. When there was only one Vincent left, it turned and streaked off in the opposite direction--towards the base in the east. Kallen supposed he had to know his situation was hopeless, and that the jamming could not be broken. If he made it to the base there would be big trouble.

She readied her radiation-surge, but Zealous beat her to it.

The Shiva smoothly sheathed its MVS and drew the railgun from a thigh holster, levelling the black rifle-like weapon in two hands. It flashed twice and the shrieking blasts reached Kallen through the external mics. The ammunition itself just appeared for a split second, withered shafts of silvery-blue extending out across the night. The fleeing Vincent faltered, tumbled out of the air, and detonated with a fiery glow over the forest.

The Shiva turned to her, eyes winking red in the darkness. Zealous said, "Well, that's five for me, then. Guess you got me beat by a bit."

She became good-naturedly annoyed at him. "I got at _least_ eight. And that last one could have been--"

"Q1, N1," Lelouch interrupted brusquely. "I show two contacts approaching from the south. Unknown configuration. Please ID."

Kallen glanced sheepishly at her sensors. She hadn't noticed. She turned away from the Shiva and stared into the southern night sky. Two of the stars appeared to be moving. "I see 'em," she said. Well, maybe they were gunships or knightmares on patrol and had witnessed the lightshow of combat. Now that they'd passed into the jamming field there was little problem. Just a little more combat and maybe two more kills.

"Magnifying," she said, and did so. A portion of her screen highlighted the new contacts and zoomed far in, so that she could see them. A knightmare riding on float-devices, and what looked like a jet-aircraft, heading in their direction. It was nothing they couldn't--

Then she recognized them.

"No," she whispered. Then she keyed her incom and was about to tell Lelouch that they had a huge problem. "Le--" she said, and then froze. She'd almost given away his name.

"What the hell," said Zealous in confusion. "I've never seen a frame like that before. Did you see that?"

Kallen glanced up and saw what Zealous was talking about. As the contacts had neared them, the jet-shaped one swivelled in the air and suddenly blossomed arms and legs, and a head. It was a knightmare. Its body was white and blue, and its head sported sweeping red horns. The Tristan.

Kallen said, "That's the Knight of One," she heaved a reluctant sigh. "Gino Weinberg."

And as she watched, the Tristan's shoulders sprouted curving bonelike supports, and suddenly with a pulsing ring, two energy wings appeared, glowing gold.

* * *

The dull clatter of combat sounded from outside. They stepped softly through the darkened and abandoned halls of Aries. Occasionally through the tall windows would come a flashing from the battle outside, bathing the luxury of the hallways in garish light. Thieving and C.C. moved through as quietly as possible. They were nearing the Empress' room, and they had not met any hostiles yet.

The ruined entranceway had been strewn with the mangled body-parts of Britannian soldiers. Thieving was used to such things, and he was surprised to discover that the girl C.C. was equally as unmoved by the grisly sight. Perhaps she'd seen more action than he had surmised. In any case the mission was apparently going smoothly, though they had not gotten any direct incom traffic from either L.L. or the others since Zealous had opened fire on the doors. It was probably a good thing. It probably meant that nothing had gone wrong. Extraneous communication during combat usually meant that the plan had failed in some way.

"This is the final turn," C.C. whispered to him. "Nunnally's chambers are down that hallway to the left. How shall we proceed?"

Thieving was pleased that she left it up to him. A measure of control made him much happier about the whole thing. Planning and executing operations to perfection was one of his absolute favourite things to do. And this L.L. fellow had usurped in large part the planning role. Well, that couldn't be helped. Though younger than Thieving by perhaps two years, L.L. knew how to run an op. That much was clear. And he knew all about Britannia.

Thieving answered C.C. "We play it calm. We talk, but not for long. When the shooting starts, pick up anything I drop, and stay close to me."

She nodded mutely and settled a hand over the assault-rifle which was slung around her neck. She cradled it professionally enough that Thieving decided to assume she was a good shot. He was pleased by her silence. Again, too much communication meant things weren't going according to plan.

They rounded the corner. Four guards tensed as they appeared and stared at them, hands going for weapons. But Thieving approached confidently with his hand nowhere near his sidearm, and then the guards saw their Royal-Guard insignia.

"Sir," one called at Thieving's approach. "What's going on out there? We have complete incom silence."

"Bastards are jamming us," Thieving said in mid stride. When he had reached the optimum distance, he drew and fired from the hip. The gun cracked four times and in that hallway the shots flashed white. The Britannian soldiers fell like dominoes. The echoes rattled down the darkened passages of Aries.

Thieving exhaled. He waited, watching the fallen for any sign of movement. One of them groaned and shifted over, and Thieving aimed carefully at him. But then the man breathed his last and settled into motionlessness. Good. He had not dropped anything. He kept his gun ready and covered the doors to Nunnally's room.

"You're fast," C.C. mused, but Thieving did not bother to be flattered.

"Before we go in," said Thieving, "Contact our knightmares. Get one of 'em to confirm that there is nobody besides the Empress in this room. I'd rather not do any shooting in there."

C.C. nodded and turned aside, a hand going to her incom. Thieving waited for her with his gun aimed at the door lest anyone barge out of it. After a moment's pause C.C. said calmly: "I can't contact anyone. There seems to be a malfunction."

Thieving stared grimly. He leaned against the wall and extracted a cigar from his pocket, then lit it. The end flared orange in the dark. "That's not good," he said as he went to suck on the cigar.

But C.C.'s eyes glared yellow at him. She said, "Smoke alarms. Put it out."

Thieving scoffed dramatically. But after a moment's pause he squatted to grind the end out on the varnished wooden floor. He shook his head sorrowfully and pocketed the mangled stub.

"It's probable they will fix the communications issue," C.C. said, not heeding his distress. "Perhaps we should secure the Empress."

Thieving nodded and rose. He carefully went to the door and pressed his ear against it. He whispered to C.C. "If I'd known we'd be without the knightmares' scopes, I would've brought a snake-cam."

She shrugged, then cocked her rifle.

Oh well. The chances were that no one was on the other side. Their surveillance had never shown anyone inside Nunnally's room besides her. "I'll go left, you go right," Thieving said, and C.C. nodded soberly. They stacked up on either side of the doors. Then Thieving extended five fingers into the air and counted down to zero.

He kicked the door open and burst in.

* * *

For a moment the four knightmares only faced each other silently, across the night. It was Gino and one other Knight of the Rounds, one she didn't recognize. This was a disaster. If _they_ were here, then all the secrecy had been for nothing.

Lelouch's voice came almost in a hiss, in her headset. Kallen jumped. "They're not supposed to _be_ here," he said. "The Rounds are on training exercises on the west coast."

But it was evident that they weren't.

Kallen swallowed and stared across at the new adversaries. Gino was not so tough, despite the apparent remodel of his knightmare. It wasn't fear of losing that made her uneasy--it was that she sort of _liked_ him. Gino was a good guy. She did not want to fight him. Heck, in the last battle, he'd saved her when she'd fallen from the Damocles.

"L.L.," Zealous interrupted her thoughts. His voice was blunt. "Orders? Looks like we've been made."

Lelouch was silent for a long moment. Kallen could almost hear him thinking. Then he said, "You'll have to eliminate them. It's possible our information about the Rounds was merely incorrect. But we'll have to acknowledge the possibility that this was a trap."

Kallen tried to put encouragement in her voice. "Don't worry, Boss. I can take Gino easily."

"Don't get cocky," he rebuked her, and she fell silent. "That Tristan has been vastly improved. He's the Knight of One for a reason. These energy readings--"

But then Lelouch was cut off and a heavy electric silence filled her headset.

"L.L.?" Kallen said. She flipped her incom off and on again, fiddled with the settings. "Boss? Zealous?"

No answer from either of them. Across the gulf, the red sensor eyes of the Shiva stared at her quizzically. All communication had been cut off.

Meanwhile the Rounds' were drifting, putting some space between themselves. The unidentified one moved to engage Zealous while the Tristan edged closer to Kallen. It only figured that _he_ would want to fight her directly. Well then. She would show him his place, if he forced her to.

The gold energy-wings pulsed with power as Tristan floated towards her.

And then he blurred with speed and shot forwards, trailing a wake of gold. The frame transformed as it came and now the wings swept forward. A spinning lance pointed in to gut her. He was going for it.

She only just danced aside. Behind her the sky flared blue and she knew that Zealous had begun his fight with the other Rounds member. She knew he was probably not up to the task, but she did not have time to worry about him. Gino swept around for another pass.

At the last second he reverted to knightmare form and his slash-harkens swarmed towards her, scything in from all directions. She dove, rising from beneath, and they met with a burst of power from each. The Tristan's twin swords drove down to stop her radiation surge. And for a moment the two mechs held fast against each other, neither giving way.

Then both fell back from each other. Kallen's eyes widened in alarm. The Tristan had indeed been given a hefty upgrade. The machine's specs were maybe even on par with the Lancelot Albion. The energy wings were the final word in knightmare design at the moment, and now the Tristan had them as well... Either way, she had defeated Suzaku in the end, and she could defeat Gino now.

Suddenly Gino spoke: "Kallen, is that really you?"

His voice emerged through the external speakers on his frame. He knew that their communications were down, then. Either he or his comrade were probably jamming them the same way Kallen and Zealous had been jamming the Aries defenders.

She flanked to one side of him, seeking an opening. She remained grimly silent. If she admitted who she was, then maybe her comrades back home would be in trouble. On the other hand... maybe if she explained to Gino what was happening, he would help. For now, though, if she could disable him quickly then there would be no need for either course of action.

Her slash-harkens leapt up to the Tristan's legs, but he swept aside so that they only nicked him. He flourished his swords and made ready to charge her. His voice came again, tensely. "I couldn't believe it when they told me the mission. It _is_ you, isn't it?" Then he dove in, his energy wings emitting splinters of yellow fire at her. She ducked and weaved through the hail of his attack, suddenly sending an angry beam of radiation upwards at him.

He twirled aside and lanced in again with his swords leading. The pure speed of his attack amazed her. As the twin MVS' slashed at her and she only barely blocked with her wings, she realized that she might actually be in trouble here. This Tristan was, as Lelouch had warned, far beyond what Gino had used to pilot.

Suddenly his sword slipped through her defences, sheared a little into the Guren's hull. It was nothing serious, but it rattled her into a slight retreat. She had to think this over. What advancements had been made and what was her way around them? She was the better pilot, that much she was certain of. Surely that was what was most important thing.

With a flash of blue the Shiva darted in front of her to engage Gino. Zealous' sword shone and ripped through the air, flashing against the Tristan. But its energy only splashed like water from the energy-wings as Gino brought them defensively inwards. Meanwhile the other Rounds member followed Zealous.

Kallen understood--Zealous had come this way to lure his opponent into her fields of fire. He was trying to communicate: the only way out of this was to work together. She swept up behind the second Rounds as it went after Zealous. Kallen's blade plunged hard into the knightmare's shoulder as it tried to evade the sudden threat.

Wounded, it spun away and Gino protectively unfolded his wings before it. The other Rounds spoke for the first time: "Oh, you must be a brave little girl, to attack Nonette Enneagram, the Knight of Nine, from _behind_." A woman's voice.

So this was the Knight of Nine. Kallen had never met her. She looked to Zealous to see if he was alright. It looked like he'd taken a couple of scratches but wasn't going to be exploding anytime soon. This time when she moved to the right Zealous circled to his left, clearly intending to pinch the Rounds members between them. They attacked more or less simultaneously, he with the railgun and she with slash-harkens.

But both attacks went astray. The Rounds acted in tandem, each splitting in the opposite direction. In fact, Kallen's slash-harkens nearly ended up hitting Zealous. _So much for that. _Zealous soared wildly above, the lightning-bolt shafts of his railgun raining down as the Knight of Nine danced back and forth.

Where had Gino gone?

But suddenly he roared up from behind. She'd let her attention wander. She swivelled with blinding speed and met him head on. She managed to deflect his swords to one side, with her wing, but it left her open. His slash-harkens jabbed in at close range, shearing off most of her port energy-wing.

_Oh, that's bad_.

Both the wings stuttered and went dead. She shoved the Tristan away, but without him holding her she only fell, fell, fell. Such a nostalgic feeling. Power surged back into the wings, but on the damaged left side it overloaded and shot bursts of pink. She corkscrewed frantically down out of the sky. Only at the last second did she sweep aside and save herself from smashing into Aries' front stairs. She alighted on the lawn next to a smoking wreck of a Vincent. She wasn't sure if the wings would function at all the next time she tried to fly.

But Gino smashed down at her from the air. He rained destruction and she broke away on the landspinners, carving furrows across the Villa's immaculate grass. The Tristan landed across the way and leered at her. He and she met in the middle of the grounds, throwing all their weight against each other. They whirled around and around in close combat, ripping tracks into the cobbled drive-ways and stomping over the fountain. This close to the Villa, Kallen was reluctant to use her radiation-surge. Their slash-harkens and MVS systems clashed against each other over and over as they weaved through deadly patterns.

And then, all at once, everything went wrong. Gino feinted one way and then his sword swept across to shear her other wing off. Kallen reeled back. _To hell with this_. She extended the Guren's right hand and moved to blow him away with the surge. But at the last second Gino's wing flashed towards her and the red energy of her radiation-surge deflected harmlessly into the sky.

Then he spun, and the swords screeched under. She felt a lurch from underneath and then there was a jarring thud as the Guren collapsed. He'd cut her legs off. Gritting her teeth she triggered the slash-harkens in one final bid for victory. They shot up from the fallen torso. Gino caught them and cast them contemptuously back at her. Then his sword angled in and Kallen froze in terror. The tip of the blade grated nauseatingly on the front of her cockpit. He could kill her at any moment.

Gino said sadly, "You were always a better pilot than me. But this is over."

No way. This couldn't be happening. They had failed. And now--

Zealous dropped from above. The Shiva clashed hard against Gino but was thrown back a step. He'd lost his left arm sometime during his fight against the Knight of Nine. This situation was hopeless. The Shiva's sword glowed with blue fire, in the remaining hand.

Nonette Enneagram appeared behind Zealous and floated in the air there, watching the stand-off between he and Gino. "I'd say you're beaten, little man. Better give it up before we kill you."

But at that moment Zealous turned to look back at Aries Villa. Suddenly the Shiva flashed towards the front steps. A fire leapt up through every window of the palace, roaring out through the openings. The blast came like static on Kallen's external microphones. Explosions buckled through every wing of the palace in a split-second, shattering the walls outwards. Then with a final titanic blast, a cloud of flame consumed the shattered bones of the Villa, howling outwards, blackening the grass. The fire rushed over the mechs standing on the lawn, and the Guren. Kallen flinched at the brightness as the temperature in the Guren rose painfully.

When she opened her eyes, Kallen saw the subdued glowering of red flames. Zealous had vanished and she was helpless, on her back between the two Rounds members. A tower of smoke blotted out the stars. Before them the final remains of Aries Villa sagged and collapsed into rubble.


	15. Zealous Shadow Eats a Sandwich

Hi everybody. Been a while. School hectic. Me lazy. Stuff like that has been transpiring.

Anyway I've been working on this new chapter pretty solidly and I'm back in my old writing habits, so with luck you can expect more chapters on a somewhat regular basis. If you don't see new stuff feel free to send me angry messages and whatnot.

I do have to thank Enigma Infinite for letting me know I was taking too damn long.

And of course I have to thank Arroyo Rose Cawston for beta reading and general support.

Also I wanted to let people know I've been mulling the idea of a fanfic based on Persona 4, shorter than this one probably. I am short on time; therefore it's nothing definite but if some readers of this story are Persona fans and like the idea I may go ahead with it.

Without further ado, here is the new chapter.

JDCT

* * *

Villetta Nu sat cradling the baby in her lap.

If it had been the _old days_, this would've meant that she was gripping the infant at arm's length so as not to let it spill any of its various fluids upon her. In the old days she would have been observing its squalling from behind a curled lip and looking frantically about for the owner so that she could hand it off.

But this child was _her_ child, her little girl. So Villetta Nu sat cradling the baby, bouncing her gently as she giggled, leaning forward to nuzzle against her soft cheek. She said things to her baby, what would have once seemed pathetic, cringe inducing things, in a breathtakingly insipid voice, like:

"Aren't you beautiful?" and also, "_Yes you are_."

And a short girlish squeak followed by: "You're _so_ beautiful," and furthermore, "Mommy loves you _very _much."

Then there was more bouncing, and more nuzzling, until the TV which had been running unnoticed in the background said something that caught her attention. Villetta paused and glanced up. She was sitting on a cumulous brown leather sofa in the living room. Now she reached over and picked up the remote, dialled the volume on the TV up a few notches.

On the TV was footage of the sprawled wreck of a building, smoking in a grey morning.

This is what the newscaster said: "--truly a sad day for Brittannia, and indeed the entire world. Possibly one of the most unprovoked acts of barbarism of this last decade, rivalling in cruelty--if not in scale-- those atrocities of the Demon Emperor Lelouch. In total the attack and subsequent bombing claimed the lives of over seventy Britannian military personnel, as well as civilians attending the Empress and, of course, Nunnally herself.

"Hi-TV will be dedicating this week's broadcasts to the tragically ended life of Nunnally vi Britannia, please join us daily as we remember our beloved Empress, the 100th and perhaps, fittingly, the last that Britannia will ever see. Prince Schniezel's impassioned address earlier today seemed to indicate that not he or any other eligible party would be ascending to the throne."

The image of the newscaster reverted back to that of the wreck. Here and there amid the grey remains the fires still guttered. The smoke in the air mingled with the drifting banks of mist, as firefighters sprayed water far over the ruin. Here and there in areas where the fires had been controlled, the firefighters dug through with their equipment, brightly yellow against the ash, presumably searching for survivors.

The newscaster said: "I still can't believe the footage, though we've been seeing this all morning." She seemed at a loss for words, momentarily. "One of the most famous and beautiful of all the Imperial Palaces, Aries, in ruins, and below, the body of our Empress Nunnally."

The scene carried on for a few moments longer. The images were shown over and over, and Villetta watched unmoving. Presently the broadcast segued into another section. A male reporter appeared before a set of wide steps. Behind him was a building constructed elegantly of stone, vaulting high above. Villetta recognized this building, she'd even been there before it had been converted to its current use. The former city hall of New Tintagel--now the provisional location for the House of Lords.

"I'm standing here just outside of the House, where a session has just apparently been completed. For those of you joining us now, the issue is the terrorist attack on Aries Villa and the murder of Nunnally vi Britannia. All morning the circumstances of the attack have been highly mysterious." The reporter cast a glance over his shoulder as people began to filter through the stone archways at his back, presumably from within the council chambers. "Hopefully some light will be shed now, as the House of Lords concludes their session and comes out to meet us."

The ranks of Lords emerged from the arches. Villetta saw many familiar faces. Schniezel she picked out almost immediately, gliding icily next to the jet-black figure of Zero. The clusters of reporters bore down immediately upon them and those about them, calling their names, hollering questions. It was a mark of the event's importance, Villetta knew, that such wrestling matches were being shown, that the statements of the emerging Lords were going to be broadcast live.

The reporter from Hi-TV seemed unable for a moment to break through the jostling and get a question in at Schniezel or Zero. His camera zoomed far over his shoulder and blurred briefly, trying to catch what Schniezel was saying. But then it retracted and panned swiftly to the right, as the reporter managed to beat the crowd to Grand Duke Weinberg and his retainers.

"Lord Weinberg! Lord Weinberg!" The cry was taken up by dozens of reporters. After a moment's pause the Grand Duke answered a question.

Weinberg said gravely, "At the present moment, it is still not entirely clear what has happened, or for that matter _why_ it has happened. We are still gathering information about the attack. The motives seem very obscure to me. However, Zero's presentation to the council indicated that our forces had, in fact, apprehended at _least_ one of the terrorists in unharmed condition during the course of the attack, so we may well have answers soon."

An unseen reporter's voice cut through the tumult: "Can you comment on the identity of the captured terrorist? Is he affiliated with any known organization which is in a position to claim responsibility?"

Weinberg seemed uncertain for a moment. "As of the present time, no organization has claimed responsibility for the attacks, or made further threats against us. However, I _can_ confirm to you that the captured terrorist is a woman named Kallen Kouzuki, and that she is currently a high-ranking member of the Black Knights."

There was a split second of dead silence before the room began shouting as one. During that split second Villetta felt all of her muscles tense as a shiver raised the hair on the back of her neck. She knew then that she was watching a requiem for more than merely Nunnally vi Britannia.

Rena, seeming to sense her sudden tension, began to cry. Villetta bent over the baby and gave half-hearted apologies and kisses against the warm smooth forehead.

On the TV the questions overlapped each other in increasing volume:

"Grand Duke Weinberg! The UFN's position on--"

"Are you saying the Black Knights are responsible for--"

"Has there been a statement from Japan or the--"

"Did she act alone--"

"Wasn't Kouzuki Zero's former--"

"The Knightmare she piloted--"

But Villetta lifted the remote and flicked the tv off, and the room was suddenly in silence. She gathered her soldier's wits about her, taking a moment merely to observe her situation. Her heart rate was high, and her breathing quick. Her muscles were tense. Was it not over? Had peace lasted only this long? Villetta took in a long breath and let it whistle out through her lips, then turned her attention calmly to the baby.

Rena had a perfect little fringe of black Japanese hair, not quite grown it yet. And she had her mother's eyes, the penetrating olive that Villetta had inherited from her own mother.

Soberly, Villetta cradled the child against her and planted kisses across the forehead. Then she stood and crossed the room, humming softly and swaying to amuse Rena. She went up the steps and to the second floor, then knocked on the fusuma door to Ohgi's study. "Can you talk?" she asked, and there was a brief pause. After a moment's hesitation his voice came from the other side, tiredly.

"Yeah, come on in."

She freed a hand up, shifting the baby into the crook of her arm, and slid the door open. Kaname Ohgi was draped loosely over the office chair before his desk, wearing the green kimono he'd taken to after his election. He was facing away from her. His desk phone was dangling from one hand. He'd placed an old photograph on the desk before him, a framed one of him, Kallen, and his old friend Naoto, who'd been Kallen's older brother.

He had heard the news, then. He'd probably just gotten off the phone with one of his aides. Villetta came up behind the chair and leaned over the back to nuzzle him in the curly hair atop his head. "We came to say hi," she told him.

"You heard?" he said at length, without turning.

"Mm-hmm." She nodded though he was still turned away from her. Then she went to sit on his desk so she could peer down into his eyes. His finger tapped his chin absently. Villetta lowered Rena into his lap and he took the baby instinctively, without looking up. He stared down at his daughter presently, seeming to notice for the first time that he'd just received her. He smiled and lifted her before his face. "Hello." He kissed her. "Little Miss Ohgi." She writhed pleasantly and her tiny hands grabbed at his nebulous bangs.

He rested Rena in his lap again and sighed, leaning back. Now he met Villetta's eyes. "What am I going to do?"

She shrugged in reply. Even now the soldier's mind was rising in her; the scenario's playing out one after another. Pull diplomatic strings and try to help Kallen, and get bogged down in years of negotiations and trials. Do nothing, and keep relations with Britannia strong--and lose a girl he loved like his own sister. More aggressive negotiation? War? Unthinkable. After all they'd suffered for peace.

"I can't let her down." Kaname reached for the picture and drew it to himself. Rena's plump fingers fastened over the wooden frame, and he gently withdrew it from her grasp. "Naoto'd never forgive me if I left her to the Britannians."

Villetta crossed her arms uncomfortably. The spirit of a revolutionary was still in Ohgi, of course. He couldn't help it, it was impossible to entirely disabuse him of the idea of Imperialist Britannia as an enemy; she wanted to tell him, _Your baby is half-Britannian, genius_. She would have said it if she didn't understand him better.

"What are you going to do, start a war?" It was said as a joke, but she couldn't keep tension from herself.

"Of course not," he said. "No, we just need the facts. This has probably been a misunderstanding. I'll get in touch with the UFN, we'll sort it out. I can call Empress Nunnally myself--" His mouth snapped shut as he remembered. Then he let out a long, whispery sigh and clutched Rena a little closer. In the sudden warm silence, the ticking of the clock on the wall could be heard.

* * *

Across the ocean, Suzaku Kururugi paced in the dimly-lit basement of a warehouse. The warehouse was abandoned, on the outskirts of Pendragon, nearly twenty kilometers from the FLEIJA crater. They'd been in Pendragon only a few days, but already the difficulties of their situation were becoming clear. To simply rescue Nunnally was unwise; more preparation was required--and a plan almost on the order of a miracle. Here they were surrounded by enemies. During the night he had heard sirens passing by intermittently and in the distance, and every time he heard them he tensed, certain that their presence here had been noticed. But no soldiers had burst through the doors, so Suzaku had forced himself to be calm. There was probably just a fire somewhere.

He turned his attention back to the other occupant in the room.

The girl, who called herself Zero; she was sitting in the middle of the room on a folding chair, her hands cuffed behind her. What did she know? How could she help them?

He ruefully scratched his cheek and approached her again. He said, "You maintain that you are Zero," and over her defiant nod he went on, "however, _I_ myself was Zero until several months ago."

"Liar." She scoffed at him, staring up with hatred in her. "I've always been Zero."

At this Suzaku had to shake his head in amazement. He almost smiled. "_Always?_" He crossed his arms and paced before her. "Alright, then. The battle of Kyushu, you remember that, don't you?"

"Of course. I was there. I was piloting the Gawain with the help of C.C. We joined with Suzaku Kururugi to defeat the rebel Japanese forces attacking from the mainland." She glared at him with glimmering eyes, daring him to find fault with the answer. It was a textbook answer, too. He frowned perplexedly. Maybe she would stumble on the details.

"Well," he shrugged, "_I_ am Suzaku Kururugi. I can tell you you're not Zero."

She scoffed, recalcitrant, and rolled her eyes in a manner that made her look much more like a teenaged girl than she had previously. "Well, I never took off my helmet. So you never knew who I was--of _course_." The tone made her seem to be mocking his senselessness. "And--_hey!_ If you're Kururugi, you _can't _be Zero. Because you were _with _Zero many times." She sat back with a deeply satisfied smile on her face.

Suzaku sighed wearily. "There was another Zero before me."

"Liar. I've always been Zero." Again the rote lines, over and over the same assertion.

"So you were pretending to be a man all this time," Suzaku said dryly. He decided to humour her and see where this would go.

She nodded vigorously. "Uh-huh. Everybody was fooled."

Interesting how without the mask her mannerisms became those of a young girl. Suzaku crossed his arms. "So. Remember when we went to Kamine Island? The time Kallen and I chased you there and unmasked you?"

"No. _Duh_." She rolled her eyes. "That was Lelouch vi Brittania, the Demon Emperor. He was pretending to be Zero."

"Right, right," he said and waved a hand. "What about the time you tried to catch me and the Lancelot? Using gefjun disturbers? And then I took you hostage inside the Lancelot and tried to hold you in place so that Schniezel could cook us both from the Avalon."

She shrugged, the manacles clinking on the chair. "What about it?"

"That was you?"

"Yeah." She squirmed and shot him a hostile look. "We would've had you if you hadn't gone all _hero_."

"Right. So how'd you escape?"

She shrugged again, s though the question was pointless. "It was _you_. You broke orders like a coward, saying you _had to live_."

Suzaku smiled and rocked back contemplatively. "You didn't do anything?"

She cocked her head, maybe sensing his trap. "Well, I did a few things. That was a long time ago. Can't remember it all, I guess."

Now he did laugh. Just a dry little chuckle at her expense. "They've done _something_ weird to you. Not sure what."

He turned his shoulder to her and paced again. She said indignantly, "What are you talking about?"

"Some kind of brainwashing. It almost reminds me of geass, actually. You _actually_ believe you're Zero, don't you?"

"Of course!" She turned faintly red, maybe put off by his new attitude of scorn. "It's the truth."

He looked at her for a long time, his green eyes glittering in the dark, below the tousled brown hair. He looked vaguely sad. "I wonder if you had your own life before they made you into this. Or if you were grown in a test-tube just for this purpose."

Her jaw muscles tensed. "You're a liar," she squared her shoulders and looked away from him. "You'll be arrested for this."

Suzaku pondered. Now that he thought about it, the test-tube thing might have some validity to it. She was tall for her age, and lithe, with almost no female chest to speak of. Had she been engineered to mimic the real Zero's physical characteristics? He wondered what would happen if he asked her about her early life, her parents, that sort of thing.

But just as he turned back to her, the side door whined open and Jeremiah stepped in. "Suzaku," he said. There was pain in his voice.

"What is it?" A certain kind of dread filled Suzaku immediately. On closer inspection, Jeremiah's eyes appeared to be red from weeping.

"You need to see this, Suzaku," Jeremiah mumbled. "All is lost."

Bewildered, Suzaku turned back to the girl to make sure he hadn't left anything in the room for her to use. She gave him a dark look and the manacles clinked against the chair again. He and Jeremiah stepped out of the room and locked the heavy steel door behind them, then made their way through the stale corridor, with its faint smell of old metals, and chemicals.

As they went Suzaku felt his unease grow. He knew that Sayoko had been using her time to get a communications and encryption system up and running, which would aid them in the eventual operation. It had been used by the Black Knights in the later stages of the Black Rebellion. Perhaps their transmissions had been intercepted and they'd been discovered? What could be disastrous enough to make Jeremiah _cry?_

It was, of course, worse than he could imagine.

He sat for a long while watching the images on the tiny television set, the interviews, summaries, the file photos. Something was deadened in him, though. Jeremiah had cried. Sayoko sat with glassy eyes, a handkerchief poised in tremulous horror before her face. Suzaku did nothing.

_Come on. Cry._

But he watched and all he could think was: What now? They have a new Zero. We came to Pendragon for no reason. He wanted to sleep. What now? And the real question, something lurking, a sick thought. Was there anything left in the World now? Anything at all? Better to go back to the dark room they had put him in, better to sleep. Maybe it was over. Maybe the last star had finally gone out.

_Come on. Cry. If there's anything left to cry about, this is it._

He did nothing.

* * *

_Relax._

Very difficult to relax.

Very disconcerting, the whole thing. The first hour or so he had madly tried to fix his connections, blaming bad circuitry. The jamming package could have malfunctioned, taken his server out of the connection loop. For a long time he rewired, rebooted, reprogrammed his equipment, until the slicing light of morning came in through the window.

Or maybe the battle had knocked out the equipment on the other end. It was as if there was no malfunction at all, actually--as though they'd simply gone silent. There was always that possibility, that maybe..._something, something...think_... yes, maybe Zealous' rail driver had shorted out the system. The supermagnets it used for ammo propulsion were more erratic than EMPs found in usual Knightmare weapons. Perhaps his rail-driver had fried the communications. It was a possibility, an unknown factor, a previously untested form of equipment with unforeseeable effects.

Lelouch paced the small apartment. It was nearly midday.

_Relax._

Very difficult to relax, considering the circumstances. It was also possible that they'd been killed, of course. Also a possible outcome, an alternate scenario.

Lelouch gripped his holdout pistol as he paced the room, thinking. Perhaps someone had penetrated his encryption, perhaps they were making ready to storm the apartment at that very moment.

And there'd been the sirens, a large mass of them, about--he checked his watch--five hours ten minutes ago, now. He paced into the kitchen, tapping his jawline nervously with the grey handgun.

Roughly half an hour had passed since his last check. He activated his mic and spoke into it: "Q1, N1, this is L.L. Anyone this is L.L. Please respond." He waited, in agony, for five minutes with his hands splayed on the kitchen counter. Just like before. Just like it had been since 3 AM the previous night. Dead silence.

What did it mean?

He watched his knuckles hunching on the countertop. His palms were damp. His shoulders were drawn tensely up towards his ears. He could not keep his breathing slow; panic was taking him, again, for perhaps the fourth time since the communications blackout. Should he have left the apartment? He had not wanted to; his own safety bored him by now. His fate did not interest him greatly.

The real horror was in what he did not know. He hated this, had always hated this propensity to imagine the worst. It was in his nature. He could not simply stand by and not generate the various outcomes in his mind. The longer he waited the further his mind twisted him, until he _knew_, _knew_ with certainty that something was horribly wrong. Kallen was dead. C.C. was taken by the enemy, never to be seen again. Nunally was gone. He would never see them again. The sick thought convinced him, despair the greatest debater of all time. And the worst was he _knew _his own thoughts had turned on him; he saw his own folly in believing the worst.

One thing at a time. It had to be that way. Let the facts fall as they may. Observe them dispassionately. Whatever happens, don't let your own imagination defeat you.

But still his arms trembled. He pounded a clenched fist on the table, willing himself into a new calm. He'd gone through the cycle many times before: despair, then hope, then fear, then despair again.

Someone was at the door.

The lock rattled. Lelouch sharply took in his breath and stepped back from the counter. The gun was heavy in his right hand. He flipped the safety off and slid his foot to one side, so the gun hung out of sight behind the counter. If it was an enemy, would he kill him? Would he shoot? At this point was there anything left to be gained from that? He was tired of it.

The door opened, and Zealous Shad came insouciantly in. His hair was wet, flat on his head for once, and he shook rainwater from his clothes. He saw Lelouch standing in the kitchen, gave a brief nod of recognition, and yawned massively as he shrugged out of his jacket.

Lelouch opened his mouth furiously. But only a small sound came out. What had happened? _What had happened!?_ "Zealous--" he began.

"_Man_ I'm hungry." Zealous stepped out of his boots and vacated the doorway. Behind him came first Thieving Shad, and then C.C. wearing a rain-coat, its hood pulled up to obscure her distinctive green hair.

A soggy, unlit cigar drooped from Thieving's lips as he slouched into the room. He looked up, saw Lelouch's tense expression, and grinned around the cigar. "Relax, boss," he said and waved a hand. "Relax. She wasn't in the building."

Lelouch frowned. He turned to watch as Zealous paced into the kitchen with him, making for the fridge. "What do you mean, not in the building?"

C.C. said mournfully, "Nunnally wasn't in the explosion. They had a body double. We were set up."

Slowly Lelouch pursed his lips. "What explosion? Explain."

Zealous reared back out of the fridge with three slices of bread crammed in his mouth. He blurted something impatient but couldn't be understood. Thieving translated: "Dammit, haven't you been watching the news?"

Lelouch blinked slowly. He set the pistol on the counter with an unsteady hand. "Tell me everything."

C.C. nodded calmly. "We entered Nunnally's room, but she was not there. It was a girl of about her age with similar physical characteristics. Upon closer inspection we saw that the room had been fitted with explosives." C.C. unzipped her windbreaker and slid it from her shoulders. Now Lelouch saw that the sleeve of her left arm had been drenched in blood. His thoughts ground to a halt and for a moment he felt his panic again. He tensed and took a step towards her, but her yellow eyes flicked him away cursorily.

Zealous swallowed a massive bite. He was at the counter, piling cold cuts and brown-edged lettuce atop yet more bread. "We should tend that, by the way. It's pretty deep." He crushed another slice of bread on top and took a massive bite of the sandwich, leaning back.

C.C. looked at him in annoyance. "This is nothing," she said with finality. "In any case: Thieving and I left Aries with some haste. The first of the charges were already detonating behind us. I think that they must have been set to count down when the Empress' door was breached. We left out the main entrance and saw a confrontation between several Knightmares--"

Zealous took over momentarily, speaking through a half-full mouth. "Kallen and I were defeated by the Rounds. I saw the flashes of the explosives going off in Aries, and looked over, and then I saw them running out the front."

C.C. nodded. "He picked us up in the Knightmare's remaining hand and we used the cover of the explosion and smoke to escape. Kallen has been captured. We hid the Shiva deep in the forest and spent the rest of the night making our way back here."

Lelouch breathed. Kallen was captured. But they were all alive. It could have been worse, but-- but now it might be impossible to find Nunnally. His fist curled on the countertop. And C.C. had been hurt. "Your arm…" he said to her quietly.

She shifted uncomfortably. "It's not serious. A piece of flying glass hit me as Zealous was carrying us away from the blast."

Lelouch lifted a hand to her shoulder. "I'll get the first aid kit in the bathroom--"

"I'll deal with it," she said simply.

He hesitated, chastened by the coldness in her voice. "Does it need stitches?"

"No."

No. She wouldn't want his help, of course. And it wasn't supposed to matter anymore. It would be a kindness if nothing mattered anymore.

Zealous, chewing his sandwich, raised a confused eyebrow. "Anyway. We had better leave town. It's gonna be difficult to get out of here with all our equipment. Our window of opportunity is fading quickly."

Thieving's voice came. "Mission failed. Sorry, boss. You only hired us for one job."

Lelouch nodded very slowly, staring down at his feet. "It's over. I don't care where you go. Keep the equipment we bought, if you'd like. I don't care."

C.C. leaned against the counter next to Lelouch and crossed her arms. Lost in thought, Lelouch sagged against her unconsciously, and he felt the sudden warmth as her blood began to soak into his own sleeve. He glanced at her but she seemed to take no note of him.

A deep silence filled the room. Zealous ate his sandwich. Thieving sat in the living room, watching. Lelouch thought and thought for an unknowable amount of time. How was he to get Kallen back? He didn't have the resources from before. He didn't have the funds to hire enough people for a mission like that. And, more importantly, Nunnally. She'd been moved. He would never find her. He'd been out-thought. She was gone.

Zealous said: "No."

They looked at him. He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, still munching ravenously on his sandwich. "No, it's not over."

Thieving scoffed and rolled his eyes. He threw his hands in the air and let them fall on the armrests, as though he'd been expecting Zealous to say something along these lines and was helpless to prevent it.

"No," Zealous smiled. "We can still rescue them."

Lelouch frowned suddenly. "Them?" Something struck him as odd.

"Kallen and the Empress." Zealous nodded. "We'll get them both back." He turned his dark eyes on Lelouch, a mischievous look.

Lelouch glanced carefully at the gun on the countertop. The safety was still off, and it was within reach. But Thieving was probably armed, and he was a good shot. Neither of them was in a threatening posture, and yet...Lelouch stared at Zealous for a moment, evaluating, looking for the bulge of a firearm. But the mercenary was nothing but smile, eating casually. He winked at Lelouch. "That's right," said Zealous.

Then he said, "_I know who you are_."

Lelouch felt the tension then, rising in the pit of his stomach. He felt the anxiety of what he would have to do if it came to preserving the secret of his survival. But outwardly he showed no sign of it. He was carefully serene, but totally motionless.

Zealous was serene in a different way, carelessly. He took ripping bites of his sandwich, not looking at Lelouch, as though what he'd said was of no concern. He shoved the last of it in his mouth, licking his fingers.

Could be a bluff. Of course it could. Could be a bluff to get Lelouch to reveal his identity, for blackmail. Or could be a bluff to squeeze more money out of him now that the operation had failed. But something in Zealous was so cheerful about it, so nonsensically uncaring. And: he'd said _rescue_ them. Rescue Nunnally. Perhaps he _did _know.

Zealous went on, with a shrug. "We're going to help you anyway. We don't care."

For the moment Lelouch elected to proceed as though Zealous' revelation meant nothing. He made sure his voice was under strict control, and said, "I can't promise more pay. My accounts may be seized, if they are on to us."

"Whatever," said Zealous flippantly.

Thieving stood limberly and glared across the room at Zealous. "Yo! You serious?"

Zealous nodded. "My call. Your call." He gestured wordlessly and Thieving heaved an agonized sigh, rolling his eyes.

C.C.'s voice cut into the conversation, tersely. "Explain."

"C'mon, what's to explain?" Zealous scoffed, glanced around him negligently.

But when he turned back to C.C. he was facing the gun. Lelouch had decided he would leave it on the counter, lacking the stomach for aiming it at either of the Shads. But C.C. had snatched it up and now Zealous stared down at the silver barrel which was levelled coolly at his chest, ready to fire from the hip. "Explain yourself. Your intentions."

His expression grew bland, suddenly, and he ponderously touched his chin with a finger. "All right, then. If you put it that way." He lifted a hand in a calming way, but at Thieving, not C.C. Lelouch turned and saw that Thieving was watching them but had not drawn his gun.

Zealous said, "You're Lelouch vi Britannia," and shrugged apologetically.

C.C. said nothing. Thieving did not react either; Zealous had probably already told him. Zealous went on. "I found out around the time we were planning the op, when you were first outlining the plans at breakfast."

Lelouch shrugged indifferently, forcing a wry grin, "Me, a dead Emperor? Interesting theory, but that doesn't make much sense."

"The opposite. It's the only thing that does make sense," Zealous said. "I knew it was true before I understood _why_. Suddenly my intuition told me who you were, and afterwards I tried to work out why I thought that.

"It's a combination of many things. Kidnapping Nunnally never made sense, of course. The group of people assembled made no sense. Former schoolmates of hers? Kallen had no motive for capturing Nunnally. Not to mention, she and C.C. are both members of the old Black Knights, from way back in the early days. It wasn't much of a stretch to assume that you were also connected to the Black Knights.

"And now the motive. Clearly Thieving and I weren't being told everything. And getting the Empress made no sense, considering the costs. She was in a coma and a figurehead. Ransom would have been made unprofitable by the huge cost of the mission. No, it had to be a rescue. I knew it was a rescue mission before we even met you, Lelouch. And who would have contacts inside the government? Who would know she was in danger? Who would _care_ enough to blow his savings on a mission of this kind? Who would have the command ability to pull it off? Who would have contacts in the Black Knights?"

Zealous smiled broadly, pleased with himself. "Only you, my friend."

Thieving came slowly into the kitchen, sucking on a new cigar. He watched the proceedings with dull interest. C.C. did not waver. She held the gun levelly, letting its aim snap back between Thieving and Zealous, keeping a healthy distance from each of them. She said: "And now that you think you've discovered the truth, shall I _really_ believe that we can trust you? I think not."

"Sure you can. We need to save Kallen, either way," Zealous shrugged. "After that we can worry about Nunnally. Maybe we'll do that too, but..." He glanced over to perceive the vaguely annoyed glint in Thieving's eyes. "Can't promise anything."

"The man that you think he is..." She shrugged a shoulder at Lelouch. "Why would you want to help such a man? You know his reputation. The Demon Emperor. If you truly believed him to be Lelouch vi Britannia you wouldn't stay. No, you have other motives."

Now Thieving glanced at Zealous and shrugged minutely, leaving the answer up to him. He rocked away from Zealous with crossed arms, as though washing his hands of the matter. He didn't seem to care either way.

For a long while Zealous appeared to ponder. Lelouch watched him curiously, the tension from before beginning to subside. The weight of his secret began to lift from him, paradoxically. For so long now, nameless, without an identity. Though he should have been as vigilant as C.C., he could only feel a kind of bizarre relief to hear his name spoken by someone else, to feel the recognition of who he really was.

"Well," said Zealous gravely. "The Demon Emperor, eh?" His eyes lifted to Lelouch's and he smirked conspiratorially. "I don't know about _that_. I have a rule, you know. Or a couple of rules: I am very sceptical all the time. You can go your whole life believing something, and find out one day that it's not true. So as a rule I don't believe anything. I don't even always believe what I see anymore, and that's about as good as it gets.

"I look at you, I see a man trying to rescue his sister. I never saw any of the other stuff they say about you. So for now, I'll believe what I see."

C.C. hesitated. Then she looked at Thieving. "And what about you? What do you want?"

Thieving raised his eyebrows. "Me, I'm bored. If we got to rescue some people, let's do it. Who cares if this guy's some former Emperor?" He turned to Zealous, "Who'd you say he was again?"

"Don't worry about it," said Zealous.

Lelouch suddenly snorted with involuntary laughter. He tried to control his twisting grin, failed, and chuckled lowly for a moment. _This _was interesting. People with whom he could work. He had not been afforded this kind of opportunity since Jeremiah's defection to his side. People who did not need to be coerced, cajoled, lied to. People who would help him despite his name. Intriguing.

"C.C.," he said gently and placed his palm over the top of the gun. She let it droop with some reluctance to point at the floor. But her arm muscles were still tense, ready to haul the weapon back up and fire if need be.

"I don't trust you," she said flatly to both of the others.

Zealous shrugged. "I don't blame you. Just look at how scruffy and disreputable we are." He grinned. "But you'll see that we're lovable underneath."

At that moment there came a steady beeping noise from the other room, however. It sounded like one of the alerts on his computer setup. Lelouch frowned, not certain what that particular alarm meant.

"One moment," he said, and went into his bedroom. He tapped the mousepad to clear his screensaver and opened the window in question. For a moment he stood over the laptop, pondering what he was seeing. Then he went back into the kitchen.

Zealous had begun frying up some bacon, whistling a tune over the sizzling of the meat, oblivious to the fact that C.C. was still standing behind him with a gun, ready to kill him at the slightest ill move. Thieving yawned as Lelouch returned, and said, "What was it, Boss?"

"It was an alert on our communications network, the one we were using for the operation," Lelouch crossed his arms and began to think. "I'm not sure what this means exactly, but... someone else in this city is using the old Black Knights encryption protocol."


End file.
